I just saw Him.
I left the wonderful Hell in a Handbag benefit at The Spot, waited way too long for the Broadway bus, ended a lovely evening with Brooke, walked towards my apartment in the rain and there He was.
The last guy I really thought would be "The One."
He was walking with some guy. He was holding a huge golf umbrella that shielded both of them from the rain.
I was getting drenched.
As I walked past them, they stopped talking. I didn't know it was Him till I was right beside Him.
It all came flooding back.
I spent years dating the most horrific man on the planet, spent more years in therapy dealing with what that man did to me and then I met Him at a party on New Year's Eve.
We rang in 2006 with our first kiss. The perfect way to start a year.
We had three incredible dates. Dates where all we did was laugh. Dates where our hands instinctively moved towards each other as if we had been holding hands for centuries.
And then, after celebrating my birthday with my friends, He never called me again.
And He never had the guts or the decency to tell me why He didn't want to see me again.
He just left.
That was over a year ago.
And I haven't been on a date since.
My therapist told me a long time ago that when I got mentally healthy, the dating pool would get smaller and smaller.
I understand that. I accept that. And I don't want to date someone just for the sake of "dating."
But I really thought He was one of "The Ones."
But He wasn't.
And no matter how much I enjoy my time by myself, I am becoming lonely.
Seeing Him again makes that loneliness palpable.