This has become a habit of mine. To love you and love you and hurt. My tummy hurts again tonight. And I know it is not the urinary infection. It is because you write to me and then you stop writing. And I do not know whether I should wait and wait, call or just call. I moved house today. I lifted fifty three big packages and a small one. I carried your toothbrush in my purse, next to the lorry driver. I did not want it to get dusty from the mattress. The lorry driver, who has the name of a Shakespearean hero, listened carefully to my five year plan and the list of potential grooms I have made in my mind. I laughed, made some pleasantries and waited for the ride to finish. But you had still not written to me and my tummy aches.