Dimples on the Edge

Well, I did it again. I started crushing WAY too hard after a couple dates and romanticized someone that wasn’t worth my time.

To be fair to them, I had verbalized outloud to myself that I wouldn’t let myself fixate, and that I would leave them as a beautiful memory of my time in New York. Unfortunately, we kept texting afterwards.

Texting, such a simple act that can have such dire consequences. Namely, that of my sanity.

If I had just listened to past me, it never would have gotten this far. It would have been left as a perfect, untouched and idyllic memory, one that I could always fondly look back on and mistily share with the grandchildren of my siblings and friends one day.

Instead, the ridiculous ease of texting lulled me into the mistaken belief that there was still a connection. That there was a desire to continue a connection. Such a fool, such a silly lovestruck fool I am.

I need to be so much better at recognizing when someone isn’t interested. To me, sharing a phone number is intimate. I don’t do it unless I intend to keep in touch. However, that simply doesn’t hold the same weight for others, and I have to stop equating my wretched belief system with theirs. It truly leads to nothing but my own agony and heartache.

A magical night that was so blissful, for me, it could have lived on forever as such. And instead, my heart is aching and I am devastated because my text (even worse, it was a voice note) was ignored, and I know this for a fact because they posted to their IG story. A fool, a fool, an amorous and wide-eyed Pollyanna.

Truly, for me to have made it this long and still act this way is mortifying. May today mark the day that I am officially on the shelf, and shunning love.