I’ve had dates, since the divorce.
I’ve had relationships since the divorce.
I’ve had men come into (or come back into) my life, since the divorce; although they always seem to disappear somewhere along the line as well.
I’ve had fun times, since the divorce.
And I’ve had my heart broken…since the divorce.
More than once.
I’ve been left, without a word, without an explanation, without a text, or email, or phone call.
I’ve also had the brush-off, always politely worded, in which he blames himself, states that he’s “damaged”, or “not ready” (not ready for what…I don’t know, since that particular man was the one driving the relationship down the highway at 100 mph.)
I’ve thought to myself, “Well, there’s the one that got away”, when things went sideways.
Always ending up blaming myself for the failure, somehow. Because what’s the one thing that all these failed relationships have in common?
It was them.
Maybe I was the one, willing to be there, willing to risk, willing to love and to be loved. Maybe I was the one saying “Come with me if you want to live.”
Maybe they’re missing what they had with me.
Maybe he knows that he Fucked up when he ghosted me.
Maybe he feels bad about when he benched me, stringing me along while he played the field.
Maybe he thinks about the time we spent talking on skype, and how he never even had the guts to meet me face-to-face to find out if lightning would strike.
Maybe he misses how I made him laugh, with my jokes & sarcasm.
Maybe one of them is out there, kicking himself, knowing I won’t ever talk to him again, because it hurts too much, so he’ll never have the chance to be with me again.
Maybe, just maybe…
I was the one that got away.