I just did a thing that surely everyone must do at some point -- I stalked my exes on social media. Not because I miss them, not because anything is missing from my life, but just out of idle curiosity. A few months ago, seeing their pictures, activities and interactions with others might've caused me a pang of wisteria, perhaps even made me a little morose, but, interestingly, not tonight.

Just now, I flicked through some photo albums on which The Spaniard features on Facebook -- these have long since made private because, simply, it'd be a bit weird still having albums with couple-y pictures in. I used to look at these and feel some sort of emotion -- mostly memories of how I felt when the pictures were taken. It used to make me sad to look at these knowing that, at the time, I had feelings for him whilst he remained totally impassive. But today looking at it, it feels strange even to think that I was once with this man, and that I could possibly ever have felt anything towards him other than to loathe his utter selfishness. It feels so good knowing that I've moved on and, most of all, it feels brilliant not caring a jot any more.

It's funny how time and distance gives you such perspective. I wish I could go back to earlier this year and tell the then 'me' who was feeling so sad and lonely -- even before The Spaniard broke it off with me -- that she deserved so much more than the twat she was with and, that in a few short months time, she would find comfort and her smile again in a friend, if only she would look closer.

The funny thing is this. On the day that I got wind that The Spaniard was going to break it off with me, I was on a big group outing/celebration. I'd gotten TS's text that he wanted to 'talk', and I knew there was nothing else we needed to talk about (eventually, the whole break up process took about 2.5 weeks cos he was a spineless idiot). It had been a long time coming and, even though I knew that, I felt utterly alone, worthless and unlovable. But I didn't want to spoil the mood of the group, so, though it made my chest hurt, I contained my sadness. One person made that afternoon bearable, though he couldn't have known of my pain. Though I was a grumpy cow that day, verging on sullen, he stuck around and he made me smile and brought me comfort. That person was the Cute Nerd - the man I've been seeing for a little while. I didn't know it then, but we would go on to become firm friends, then flirt outrageously, dancing around the fact that we both wanted each other, culminating in a kiss on the platform of Piccadilly Circus Station.

So there you go. Life has a funny way of changing direction just when you're tired of the journey. It's by no means over yet, but it's certainly gotten interesting.

I've been thinking a lot lately. How do you know you really love someone? I used to think I knew, and now I'm not so sure. I miss The Spaniard an awful lot. I haven't stopped thinking about him. I know it's only been 3 weeks since we broke up, but he's on my mind an awful lot. Did I really love him though? If I did, wouldn't I know beyond a shadow of a doubt?

We hadn't seen an awful lot of each other since the break up, but last Wednesday we had a really fun night out, and it ended on him telling me that he missed me and that I'm still on his mind. There were kisses and cuddles, from which we were both reluctant to withdraw from, and it left me awfully confused. He was very drunk, and told me that I'm the best - the best what, the best at what - your guess is as good as mine. He said he didn't want me to leave, but since there was so much alcohol involved, I knew that there would be a chance that the next day there there could be regret on his part, if he even remembered any of these events at all. I couldn't work out whether he was trying to tell me that he wanted me back or if he was just saying sorry for the way we ended up.

There was a point last week where I would have said for sure that I did love The Spaniard. When you love someone, you want to protect them, to shelter them from the things that hurt them and to soothe their pain no matter what, right? I felt that, so strongly, last week. I can't tell you the exact situation, but I just wanted to put my arms around him, hold him tight and make everything okay. Is that more than you would feel for a friend? I'm still not sure. I do know though, that I look for him online when I log on before bedtime (an old ritual of ours), and it still makes my heart skip a beat when I see his name in my inbox.

I wish I knew with some certainty what he wants from me. On my part, I still don't know what I want - I remember what the bad times were like and how awkward and lonely it felt sometimes, and that stops me from jumping back in. But I also can't deny the obvious chemistry we still have, and I can't forget the lazy comfortable evenings and weekends we spent together and the times he made me feel so special. Is it him I miss? Or it is just that I miss having someone there? I don't know. I do know though that, where before I felt that there was occasionally *something* missing from the relationship, now I feel like something is missing from my life.

Is it me, or does life never get any less confusing? I'm 27 next month -  I should be an adult, and yet so much of the time I feel like a lost child, making everything up as I go along. When does it get easier?

The last few mornings, I've woken up with a dull ache in my heart - one that felt strangely familiar, although I couldn't pinpoint what it was when it first began. And then I realised -  it was the lonely ache you feel when you love someone who no longer loves you back - the one when you know your relationship is coming to an end. After my previous relationship ended, I woke up with that ache everyday for 8 months.

When The Spaniard came into my life, although I didn't really notice it at the time, the ache that I felt slowly lifted until it disappeared altogether. I guess it was the rush from being in a new relationship that did it - all those new possibilities, the hope, the passion, the flirtation. So until a few days ago when the ache returned, I hadn't even noticed that it had gone.

But now it's back. Another relationship that didn't last. This time "you're a nice girl, but I'm not in love with you". If you look at my last post in February, it was something I'd known for a while, but had chosen to ignore, hoping that sooner or later it might happen, that those little awkward quiet moments would turn into comfortable silences. But life doesn't work like that, and I guess some things are not meant to be.

So on Friday, I was that girl on the tube with tears running down her face. But I do respect him for having the courage to be honest with me - it can't have been easy. After all, I too had identified that 'something' was missing, yet I had said nothing. The last 4/5 months have been fun and, above all, I'm grateful. Because, for a while at least, The Spaniard made me feel that there was another chance at love, and he lifted my sadness. It was good while it lasted, but ultimately we weren't right for each other, even though I wanted so much for this to be IT. Perhaps though, I've gained a good friend.

So, another frog down, I guess. I wonder how many more before I find my prince?

It's been a long, hard week. I am still sad, but one thing that I have learned this week is how utterly brilliant my friends and family are. I really am blessed with the bestest friends anyone could ask for - you know who you are. Bloggers too - thank you for taking the time to leave messages of support. They help more than you know. Thank you all...