The original entry

I desire very greatly to no longer want Kate. I can't and won't say I don't love her or that I do not want to love her. I wish, however, that I didn't ache daily to be with her.

So -- and hear me out here -- don't. Decide that you don't want Kate and stick to that. You are right to want anything but her.

I am not being poetic, I really do not want to want to be with her, but I feel impotent against the overwhelming force of my desire for her.

You are the only powerful person in this interaction, the only one who controls yourself. Stop giving Kate an influence over you that she does not want. (She may want to have sex with you, but she does not want to put up with your mooning after.)

This swansong has gone on far too long.

You won't hear an argument from me.

Years ago, when I went to my senior prom with Kate, I loved her so much that I cried over the beauty of her hair.

That Kate and the one over whom you are self-flagellating are not the same person or possibly even friends.

I wonder if she is even thinking of me so far away in Texas.

She likely thinks that you are too much of a headache. That is if she is thinking of you at all.

and still have some money to live on when I am living on campus (hopefully) next year.

You never live on campus, something which haunts you. You don't own your experiences because they do not match your imagination.

Nor is it anticipation of the return of Kate, though I do not deny that I await her return so that I may have my heart broken by her yet again. Or kiss her and put the cardio-crushing off for another five minutes.

Do. Not. Kiss. Kate.

Weren't you happier before your passionate few hours?

Being near Kate, touching Kate, is agony for you. It isn't worth raising your pulse for half an hour if you spend days hating yourself.

Anyway, we will address her as, oh let's say, Dulcinea.

I have no idea who this might be, which bothers me. Dulcinea ends up being slightly important -- not crucial, but present in the narrative -- and there is only a fuzzy blank in my mind where she ought to be.

It might have been another matter if you used her name, though perhaps not. It is not as though all the names of the people who passed before you would summon them back if I knew what to call them.

I had seen her and complimented her on her clothing several times in the past, though not really to engage her in conversation.

What was it about her clothing so worthy of comment? These details matter. Irish Bird had a few accessories mentioned; I can dress the blonde mannequin of her. Dulcinea doesn't even have a shape.

Back to Dulcinea... actually, this story now seems significantly less interesting now.

Stories untold tend to be uninteresting.

I can't imagine Dulcinea will play any more important role in my life, our interaction was brief and slightly suspect on her behalf.

She recurs -- I broke my rule not to look forward in your story because I was bored and incapable of writing anything else. I would love to know what made her interaction suspect. You leave too much unsaid and shove needless information down your readers' throats. I pray that you find a better balance soon.

Every interaction does not change the world.

But it could. That's the point of them.

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Thomm Quackenbush is an author and teacher in the Hudson Valley. He has published four novels in his Night's Dream series (We Shadows, Danse Macabre, Artificial Gods, and Flies to Wanton Boys). He has sold jewelry in Victorian England, confused children as a mad scientist, filed away more books than anyone has ever read, and tried to inspire the learning disabled and gifted. He is capable of crossing one eye, raising one eyebrow, and once accidentally groped a ghost. When not writing, he can be found biking, hiking the Adirondacks, grazing on snacks at art openings, and keeping a straight face when listening to people tell him they are in touch with 164 species of interstellar beings. He likes when you comment.