The Possibility of Him

I sit here at the computer, day three after another person expressed they didn't see a future with me. Seeing him off wasn't that difficult, I had two dates a week, making a month of only kind of getting to know him. The day it happened, I filled my night with distraction, the day after, I let myself feel the disappointment of starting over. Today, I want to be over it, but unfortunately, I still feel hungover from being let go. The day after it ended, I woke up to a meeting I had forgotten about with a couple who inquired about my videography services. I joined the call with exuberance and played on their excitement and the sweet syrup of love that filled the void while talking about their special day. They were lovely, present, and so full of hope that I typically live by. But that day, all I felt was the lack of possibility. I felt the presence of what they have and the absence of what I cannot seem to find.

The next work day I had after it ended, I spent my whole shift listening to the comfort of a playlist to which I had learned all the lyrics to. The sad, heartful words no longer feel the presence of any emotion, yet holds me in a blanket of a place I have been before. I made jokes to my friends about the bittersweet end, telling them it was his loss while respecting his decisions and delivery. We laughed as I told them that I walked him to his car like I was the main character in The Bachelor or something, sending him away with a solum goodbye.

This ending never truly found its beginning, which made the text strand in my phone easier to delete. Although my day-to-day doesn't really change all that much, I still feel gutted over the loss of our potential.Maybe that is where I get myself in trouble: the hope, the excitement, the belief that there could be a future full of possibilities and a person who could love me. Maybe if I could live without that concept in my brain, I wouldn't have to justify this feeling I can't explain.

I bought myself flowers yesterday to fill the vase where his first-night flower remained. I told myself this time, we are different; we are not going to overly feel this, we are not going to keep his dried-up flowers in the presence of our mind, we are not going to keep any photos we shared together, he was just a blimp of time that consumed my mind. The past few days, I have been going over every moment, analyzing the ones I was romanticizing could have been the ones he was realizing. When he looked at me, was there no meaning? Could it have been the differences in our cars or the complexities of our minds? He never said it was one thing; he just said something for him was missing. I accepted his word at face value but have been thinking over time, wondering what it could have been. Not that I will ever get that answer or really should know, as it would do me more harm than good if there were another reason. I guess while I was noticing all the factors that could be right, he was seeing a different sight.

I told myself I'd give it some time before I tried again, but that same day, I was tempted to redownload the dating app I met him on. Maybe to see if he was still there, maybe because I wanted affirmation of the possibility I find myself questioning. Nonetheless, I know the apps aren't the answer, but they create an imitation of being desired after being rejected. I just want to love and be loved the way I have seen possible.

My mom would always say your late twenties are about learning and figuring yourself out. I have come to the conclusion that there's nothing to figure out about life; it is constant movement with changes and adversity. However, what I believe she means is you begin to understand yourself more. In my early twenties, I never really experienced short-term dating, and if this situation happened to me at that age, it would have shaken the core of the ground I stand on. Although it saddens me that another person was not my person, I truly believe that has way more to do with him and what he wanted out of it, and that's okay. I know my worth and what I am looking for, I am grateful he ended when he did and the way he did. I think him actually being a good guy is one of the hardest parts of admitting to myself that maybe it is for the best. I wanted more, and looking back he probably wanted less.

There is no right answer to any of this. I grew up thinking finding your person was a right we were all given, that in due time, it will find you. I don't want to give up on that possibility; I just wish I could mute my internal dreams being intertwined with a person I don't know yet. Love and marriage have seemed like a wish granted to the lucky. Maybe all my luck has been used up on a wonderful family and an adventurous soul that strides with independence. Maybe my brother grew up with the love of his life because he needed her to be what he is. Maybe my sister was given the love of her life to give her a direction she never knew she wanted. Maybe others just settled for the comfort of compatibility and not being alone.

With him, I was on the precipice of possibility. We laughed together; we had chemistry, at least so I thought. I began to let myself feel safe in another's arms, let myself embrace the comfort of their hug. I wanted him, or maybe I wanted the possibility of a life with someone like him more than anything else. My mom told me that maybe he was a lesson toward the person you're supposed to meet. Maybe.

Yet here we are, sitting at our computer, talking in plural structures, because being alone has become an ally in itself. Me, myself and I have become a team that is trying to stay strong, desirable, and driven while hoping, that maybe there is a little more luck out there for me.