not me

HE is engaged.
Announced it on facebook. A week ago. No personal communication to me, from him. Which, I suppose, I don't really expect at this point.
He met her two months ago.
She looks like his mother, in my opinion. (I did not tell him this.)
And that's fine. Really.
I want him to be happy.
I do.
It just still bothers me that when he thought of me, it was the me from high school, and not the me from ten years ago. Not the adult me.
Because, for me? The reason I was in this, now? Was because of who he was when my life was falling apart, when my husband was leaving me.
Sure, high school is part of the story. But only as a beginning. That is not the person I couldn't get over. That is not the person I still love.

There is no point in trying to tell him this. I would only look desperate, jealous.
But it seethes; simmers under my skin.

I had hoped he would remember.
I was sure, if he did, he would love me again.

It hurts, knowing that I mean so very little to him.
So little, he didn't feel it was worth finding out if there was anything more; could be anything more.
He didn't want that.
He wanted someone else.
Not me.

and that leaves me...what? unloved? unwanted? forgotten?

Keep it in the Family

According to a recent text message:

 

My daughter-in-laws' brother-in-laws' brother finds me attractive.

 

Sounds reasonable to me.

it dawned on me

It dawned on me
the other day:
perhaps
what he was hoping for
was that I'd be him.
The him that he was for me
back then.
Ah.
That, I can do.

total bust

The blind date? Yeah, whatever. As soon as he finished eating, he was all, "that was fun...we should do it again sometime..." Me? Still eating at that point. Not cool. And, what was with the whole "the gelato here is really good. You should try it sometime. Not now. But sometime."? What? Why not now? I don't get it.

another blind date?

A couple of weeks ago, one of my knitting friends passed along my info to a friend of her hubby's.

Last night he called, we chatted for a minute, and he asked me out.

We're meeting Friday night for dinner.

an entire week

That's how long it's been, since I last talked to that certain someone. A little more than a week, to tell the truth. Friday morning, the 20th, it was.

I'd had a sort of a bad night the night before, trouble sleeping and all that, and I'd texted him something, late that night, which he'd not answered. The next morning, he texts me something along the lines of "sounds like you were having a bad day", and after a little back and forth, he says he has a meeting to go to, and I say I'm going back to bed. Since then, nothing.

Here's the thing, with that: earlier on, I could see how difficult this was for him, trying to just carry on trying to be friends, and I'd prayed about it (because that's how much he matters to me), and asked that, if I should just step back, not try to talk to him, that at least He make it easier for me.

And it's been easy.

I take that to mean it's the right decision.

things I would say

I need time. Time to allow the things I want in a man to become abstract. Time to allow myself to look for those characteristics in someone new. Someone not you. Someone I haven't met yet. Or maybe I have, but I didn't see it, because I wanted it to be you so badly. I can't do this anymore. You've broken my heart, again, without even meaning to. It's not your fault. You didn't know I was waiting for you. How could you? For a while, I believed you could. I believed we had this connection, something other-worldly, and I believed you knew I was here, loving you, dreaming of you, waiting for the day you would come back.

But when you did come back, you didn't know. You didn't love me. You didn't even remember loving me, as an adult. You could only remember the years before, the awful, heartbreaking, all-too- short teenage romance, and who I was then. You didn't remember the woman you fell for, again, at 34. You could only see the girl I'd been at 17, so you, you became the boy you'd been, instead of the man. That girl is gone. I left her behind so long ago, so gradually, I don't even know when she disappeared. For me, that's a good thing. That girl wasn't my best self. She was alright, but, she lacked compassion, patience, the capacity to accept others as they are without judgement. The woman I was at 34 had all that. I struggle to maintain that now, at 43, but I know, I'm more the woman I was than I am the girl.

It's not your fault. I don't blame you. It can't be helped that I still look the same, sound the same. You look the same to me, too. But, I'm looking at the man you were, nine years ago, when you loved me, the woman I'd become, and not the girl I was. Nine years ago, when you were all those things I need, and more, except, you weren't available. The timing was off. Perhaps it's always been off.

I loved you then. I love you still. But you're not that man.

I want to be there for you, help you to heal after your divorce, as you did for me. But it's not working. I said too much, dreamed too long, kept seeing the man you were, nine years ago, instead of the man you are now, and I broke it. I ruined whatever connection we had, because I couldn't see who you are now, until it was too late. Too late, because you'd figured it out. You saw that I'd been waiting, that I still loved you, and you ran away.

I don't blame you. You didn't intend to break my heart again. You didn't know, until you saw me again, that I'd never gotten over you. That I hadn't even tried. I was just someone you used to know, someone you hoped still cared for you enough to be your friend and help you through a tough time. I'm so sorry I wasn't able to be that for you. I know how much you're hurting, and I know how much you need me to be there for you, to help you feel normal, lovable, worthwhile. You are all those things, though you can't see it right now. And I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for not being what you need.