I have something very important to say to you, but I can't tell you what it is. It's a very important thing, but I'll tell you another time.

Was that pity? I think it was. No wonder, I even pity myself. Will the pity make her love me? Make her take me home with her and look after me like the plant? Fucking bastard smug plant.

... I somehow convinced myself that she knew how I felt, and that she probably felt the same way.

Stick in and do my best.