When you look outside the window, the 12th floor of the hotel and you see the thick clouds of people walking from opposite sides of the avenue - you tend to wonder if one of those clouds of people could be your future hubby or what not. You fling the blinds and turn off the tv and you lay in bed with the goose - feathered pillows and you're lonely.
There was this guy you really, really liked and you pretty much owe him an explanation.
Will he talk to you again? I hope so.