Earlier this week

I feel as though Nathan is one of those unobtainable goals I have set for myself. One that I will break my neck trying to achieve. New Zealand is a long way away. As much as I don't want to admit it, I am losing hope. Dreaming of being in his arms is one of the most wonderful thoughts I could ever conjure, but its power is beginning to wane. This is not to say I am admitting defeat. That'd take a helluva lot. It's not like I'm really waiting for him, in the sense that most wait (or the way I think anyhow). I go on dates, I have sex, all sorts of things. He encourages me, oddly enough. So what is this? A note filled with sorrow? Regret? Guilt?