Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go ahead and tell me that a broken heart takes time to heal (he says the same thing). In the meantime, I'll schlump around and bemoan my fate. I'll blame his inconstancy. I'll curse his frantic need to find an idealized mate. I'll tell you how he had more problems than I had realized, though he told me as much about his history with relationships--on our second date. I'll tell you how I never felt I was good enough, and how I was so bloody grateful to have such a talented and handsome boyfriend.
Am I bitter? No, I haven't even started to go there yet. I am not the only person in the history of humankind to be told I am not The One (and that there is someone waiting in the wings who might just be). Doesn't matter: the joke is still on me.
Keep busy. Hang out with positive people. Take a trip. Lean on loyal friends. Stop remembering moments in which something else could have been said or done. Stop replaying moments from our time in Italy, however painful that was . . . the beginning of the end?
Stop wishing I could have addressed my own fears first and just left after the first three months when my inner voice screamed get out...
Did Ivana feel this way when it was over with The Donald?
Boom.
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