Getting Over It

by Serafine Roche
20 May 2012 04:56 (updated 20 May 2012 04:56) | 0 comment(s)

I need to get over it.

I need to get over him.

I mean, what exactly am I doing? I’m almost two hundred years old. I’m not some teenager mooning over her first crush or pining away because the boy in second period math doesn’t know I exist. I’m not supposed to be waiting with baited breath for the telephone to ring and jumping every time that it does. (And feeling a huge wave of disappointment every time it isn’t him.)

We had one date. I thought it was fun. He kissed me, which I usually take as a good sign but maybe he got cold feet. Maybe he woke up and realized just how complicated being involved with me would be. Maybe he realized that he’s just not that into me.

Whatever. As of today, it doesn’t matter. I’m getting over him. I have dated and been with plenty of men. I’ve dated actors and athletes, computer geeks and executives, doctors and teachers, bartenders and horse trainers. Bryn Blackwell is just one man in a huge, fathomless sea of men and if I follow Kieran’s example, then the human sea is certainly bottomless. He’s never lacking for companionship, because he’s so damn flexible and he doesn’t get attached or interested in any of his arm candy for very long.

I don’t either. Usually. So why is he different?

He isn’t. That’s the point. He isn’t.

I don’t care what Maeve thinks, this isn’t some grand romance. He’s not my soul mate or twin soul or whatever the hell other nonsense I let her douse me with. I reacted to him like I did because he’s a good looking man and he’s the sort of man that I’m always attracted to. Dark hair, light eyes, presence and a take charge personality. That’s all it was. Nothing more.

The city is huge. It’s huge and breathing and alive and filled with opportunity. Dark hair, blonde hair, dark eyes, light eyes, male, female. It’s a smorgasbord just waiting to be sampled, and I’m not going to spend another night with my finger on my damn cell phone hoping his name flashes across the screen.

It’s his loss. I’m his loss. It’s time for me to remember who I am. Time for me to be what I am.

Tonight, I’m going to get back on task. I’m going to be me again, and I’m going to revel in all that city has to offer.

Hello New York … I’m back.


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