I'm crying (briefly) in the middle of the lawn, my head cushioned by my arms and the sun warming my legs. When I'm not sniffling into the wind, I'm staring at the sky, refusing to speak.

I had a really long day, that's all, and I was very tired. I wasn't in the mood to talk much.

P couldn't understand it at all. "Tonight's going to be alright. Just go talk to the people who won't talk shop," he said. I've just spent an entire week doing leadership stuff, on top of uni stuff, and it had made me quite tense.

"It's not that. I can handle that." I can. Facades are easy.

"What is it then? Come on, tell me."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You do want to talk about it."

"I don't want to talk about it." I must have said that five times in an hour. "I don't want to talk about it."

How could I tell the poor guy that he was somehow mixed up in my tired misery? I told him to go because I was this close to tears. He went, but then came back. I didn't understand that at all. I still don't understand it.

I was monosyllabic and was a complete moron, but he stayed there on the lawn for nearly an hour, keeping me company. Why on earth would he do that, when he could have gone off and found more congenial company?

"You're my best relaxing buddy, Liv."

I'm confused, bemused, bewildered, and a hundred other emotions.

"We've seen each other four times this week. We don't have to see each other every day."

"Okay, I won't call you next week then."

A little distance, a week or so, might be good.