As expected, the euphoria was too good to be true. The melancholy has hit once more.
Did he mean any of the sweet things that he said? If he'd started having doubts three weeks ago, does that undermine all the things that he did and said which suggested a substantial degree of affection? What about that night when he brought me to St John's Chophouse - was any of that genuine?
What do I even mean by that, genuine? I suppose I mean if it was authentic, sincere, whether he was fully present in the moment with me. How many of those previous occasions when I thought I felt a mutual connection was I actually not alone in them?
What do I even care? I have rationalised this. I was in love with the idea, not the person. I wanted the fantasy, not the reality.
And yet, this hurts like hell.