I knew listening to The Smiths would make me think of you.

But it’s not like I was doing so well anyway. While I was still in bed this morning, I wondered if today was one of your 0430 mornings where you have to work downtown. I thought of you when I saw a co-worker eating sushi from a grocery store deli. I thought of you when I saw the ‘Charcuterie’ sign at Wegmans. You’ve been everywhere all day, and I can’t stop thinking about you now.

Every time I look up from my couch I see the Firefly DVDs that we’ve tried to watch to completion – twice – unsuccessfully. I can’t help but to think that you’ll never find out if Mal and Inara get together in the end. Tomorrow will be three weeks since I’ve last seen you, and three days since we’ve had any communication at all, but it feels desperately longer than that. I check my email at least twice an hour, hoping to have something from you that I don’t actually expect to find. My breath catches in my throat when my phone pings, because I’ve been conditioned to anticipate your texts and calls. I had to consciously stop myself from bringing you up on conversation today. Though really, I needn’t have bothered because someone else did it for me.

I met a friend for drinks after work this evening: my new thing is to make sure I have plans with another human at least once a week. He, having only met you once, started the conversation like this: “so that guy friend of yours that I met…” It knocked the wind right out of me.

“Look, I think he’s a nice guy. And I don’t know what the score is with you two, but I just want to say that I hope you’re not letting him hold you back. I hope you’re not waiting around for him.”

I told him he didn’t have to worry about me, that we’re not speaking at the moment. I didn’t go into details, but I did ask him why he said what he said. “I know the type. And you could do better.”

In my head a gazillion rebuttals popped up. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know us. He saw the show you put on in a crowd – and if I’m frank, it’s not a show I generally enjoy. But sitting in the bar I wasn’t about to get into any of that, so I just sat there while he backed up his statement with examples and observations. I cried a little inside, as I realized that in less than one week, two adult males (neither single, mind you) who don’t know me on a personal level have sat in front of me and told me that I deserve better than this. Two, in one week. Is that just a thing that attached men feel like they can freely say to their unattached female friends? Have I suddenly become a charity case? The Poor, Wretched, Single Woman?

Or is there something there?

I look at my disheveled apartment and notice how, ironically, it reflects my disheveled thirty-something bachelorette life. I feel like a shell of the person I was 10, 15 years ago, who’s surrounded herself with nothing of real value. I wouldn’t be jumping at the chance to date me, either. I do, though, have this idea that I can take the next month+ and start to define myself again. To get back to the things I love to do and spend time with the people that I’ve neglected while pouring myself into this lopsided relationship. The rub is that doing so would feel like giving up. As though all the “maybe someday” scenarios that we talked about, and the thousands more that we hadn’t yet discussed, will float away without a genuine shot of becoming real boys. I’m afraid that if I let them go…then I’ll have nothing left.

And I don’t want to have nothing left. I just want to have you.