My one class of the day has me bored to tears, especially given the evening I'd just had. I've spent the entire period gazing out the window and doodling in the margins of my notebook: hearts, flowers, flames – the things that represent how Harlan makes me feel.
I feel like a stupid teenager but he occupies my thoughts on a near-intrusive level, and anything to express all the things that I'm forbidden from actually telling anyone is an appreciated output.
I wish I could talk to Rose. Harlan is busy prepping for the final and grading the last essays of the term, so for a day or two at least, I try to go easy on the communication with him.
More time for me to decompress after my almost-panic-attack in his office. I know that a brief separation is probably beneficial, but it is hard to fo
