Bryan W. Alaspa 1It's over. It's done. No more.
October 17th 2009 19:11
No more.
No more websites, no more dating profiles, no more personal ads, no more descriptions, no more.
No more waiting for responses. No more rejections. No more unanswered messages. No more polite turn-downs.
No more awkward first e-mails. No more repeated e-mails and wondering when to give out a phone number.
No more awkward first phone calls. No more wondering what to say. No more worrying about what was said. No more uncomfortable pauses.
No more wondering when to call again. No more agonizing over if it's the right time to call.
No more tentative first dates.
No more nervous days spent waiting for that first date, stomach tied in knots, sweating, heart pounding.
No more waiting for the date to arrive. No more wondering if that look will cross her eyes, the one of disappointment. The one that says, no matter how the rest of this night goes, you are not what I want.
No more interminable and eternal dinner.
No more awkward dinner conversation.
No more watching as she immediately reaches for her money when the check arrives as an indicator that you are in this together and this is no longer a “date” because she's going to pay for her half.
No more uncomfortable endings and good-byes that end in hugs.
No more wondering for days if it went well. Did I say too much? Did I show I liked her too much? Not enough?
No more waiting and wondering when to call again.
No more ending up in the “friend zone.”
No more being told she is giving her ex one more chance and, it's really not your fault, even if that ex is going to prison.
No more trying to pick myself up and doing it all over again.
I understand. I am the unloved. The unlovable. The undersirable. The unwanted. The unneeded.
I am no one's first choice. I am the also-ran. I am the second choice, at best.
No more. I get it. I give, as evidence, the dateless teenage years, the endless un-attended Homecoming Dances and Proms. One broken marriage. The endless stream of pointles, stupid, nowhere relationships.
And finally, one sad, shrunken, bandaged, battered, bruised and shattered heart.
It's over now. I get it. You win.
No more.
No more websites, no more dating profiles, no more personal ads, no more descriptions, no more.
No more waiting for responses. No more rejections. No more unanswered messages. No more polite turn-downs.
No more awkward first e-mails. No more repeated e-mails and wondering when to give out a phone number.
No more awkward first phone calls. No more wondering what to say. No more worrying about what was said. No more uncomfortable pauses.
No more wondering when to call again. No more agonizing over if it's the right time to call.
No more nervous days spent waiting for that first date, stomach tied in knots, sweating, heart pounding.
No more waiting for the date to arrive. No more wondering if that look will cross her eyes, the one of disappointment. The one that says, no matter how the rest of this night goes, you are not what I want.
No more interminable and eternal dinner.
No more awkward dinner conversation.
No more watching as she immediately reaches for her money when the check arrives as an indicator that you are in this together and this is no longer a “date” because she's going to pay for her half.
No more uncomfortable endings and good-byes that end in hugs.
No more wondering for days if it went well. Did I say too much? Did I show I liked her too much? Not enough?
No more waiting and wondering when to call again.
No more ending up in the “friend zone.”
No more being told she is giving her ex one more chance and, it's really not your fault, even if that ex is going to prison.
No more trying to pick myself up and doing it all over again.
I understand. I am the unloved. The unlovable. The undersirable. The unwanted. The unneeded.
I am no one's first choice. I am the also-ran. I am the second choice, at best.
No more. I get it. I give, as evidence, the dateless teenage years, the endless un-attended Homecoming Dances and Proms. One broken marriage. The endless stream of pointles, stupid, nowhere relationships.
And finally, one sad, shrunken, bandaged, battered, bruised and shattered heart.
It's over now. I get it. You win.
No more.
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