Dating in the rain

Do you know what’s scarier than the blank page? The halfway done one. That page is fucking terrifying. With all those good ideas that turn into nothing, all those loose ends that you want to tie somehow, yet end up going nowhere. So that’s why I’m here instead. Starting over, from scratch. Something new. Which feels appropriate after all this time; specially in the midst of an ending that’s been postponed for far too long.
This is meant to be brief. I’m sorry to turn you on with a few words, as if I were to break the silence and feed you some more drama. Because if you read these lines, as you have devoured the ones that came before, you are definitely here for the fucking drama. I know I have plenty to share, but the narrative keeps avoiding me. How should I portray the last couple of months? Allow me to keep the mystery for a while. Still trying to figure out how to honor the stories that were.
I went on a date yesterday. A long awaited date with a Tinder match I didn’t think I’d meet. We had spoken on the phone a couple of times before, considering that traveling one hour to Odense just to meet somebody for the first time sounded ludicrous to me. So she came to Frederiksberg instead, on a rainy and gray Copenhagen summer day. We hugged, went into the cafe, had some freshly pressed orange juice and talked for hours. It was nice getting my brain massaged with intelligent conversation and funny awkwardness. But the spark wasn’t there. I think be both knew if from the first minute, but stretched the date for a long time; perhaps in an attempt to give attraction some time to warm up, to magically appear. Which never happened.
“So, what do you wanna do,” I asked in the end.
“Well, I have to be honest with you… I don’t think I’m feeling it, you know?” she said, apologetically.
“I know, I could sense that,” I said. “It’s okay. Thank you for the honesty.”
We left the cafe when the rain stopped. We held each other, briefly, and -poetically, as this sounds- headed in opposite directions to never text, call or see one another again. And, although I shouldn’t have cared much about it (I mean, that’s dating for you, fellas), I did. So much anticipation for nothing. Although, in a way, it felt right. Am I really ready to embark in yet another relationship? Or am I just trying to fast-forward the process of letting go of my ex (and the ghosts of all my previous exes)? As if I hadn’t tried that before. As if that ever worked.
Back to the drawing board, huh?

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