Somewhere between sleep and waking, I float in the periphery of a sweet dream. I want to stay here soaking up its warm light, but the image fades, and peace slips away. A familiar ache creeps into my subconscious and I reluctantly recall the reason for the void I feel. I miss someone. I’m surprised by the weight of his absence, and the sting of rejection I feel. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, he’s a tiny blip on the radar screen of heartache.  

I reach for my phone in the darkness, it glows 3:33, a number with some magic meaning I’ll look up later. I want sleep, but my mind is busy trying to crack the code of modern dating. All these stupid terms, friends with benefits, casual dating, and non-dating. What does that even mean? I hadn’t dated in years. Still, I had a clear mental picture of the nameless man worthy of ending my hiatus. And it wasn’t this guy. I had been perfectly happy on my own. Finding my match would be the icing on the cake, not a requirement. I had already proven that I could be both single and happy. He was persistent though, fun, and funny too. I stopped resisting, and slowly let him in.  

He liked that I was casual about our status. I didn’t make demands on his time or require lots of his attention. The good feeling he gave me when we were together lasted for days, I didn’t need or want to chase him. There were other reasons for my ease, I was used to being on my own. But overtime I couldn’t resist the kind of special that he made me feel and my affection for him grew. Without voicing my change of heart, he knew. His subtle and deliberate pulling away followed. 

I could have ended things right then, but that is not my nature. I like to torture my heart while hanging on to a glimmer of hope. I used to be embarrassed by this admission. I thought I was too smart to be so naive. I feel differently now, I like my hopeful self. Open to possibilities, I try new things, and I don’t give up, at least not for long. I had moved to Italy and written a book and remembered how much I loved the company of a man. Of course, I recognize its downside too; I can be unrealistic about the future, and sometimes linger in the past. It’s a flaw I’m willing to live with, the upside far outweighs a little heartache. 

Restless, I toss and turn, the conversation that confirmed we would never be more than friends plays on a loop in my head. He was clear, I didn’t check all his boxes, another idiotic term I dislike. I want to hate him, but I can’t. That’s not in my nature either. I still insert his name in conversation when it isn’t necessary, and I think about him when I don’t want to. But I know without a doubt my heart will catch up with my head and I’ll let all of this go. I have a life so full that the love that surrounds me and the exceptional gifts I have to offer are already pushing me toward something better. 

I take my phone from the nightstand one last time and search for the meaning of 333. My screen lights up with more information than I want to read, my eyelids are suddenly heavy. But a short paragraph highlighted in blue gets my attention. It says seeing this sequence of threes indicates that I should embrace my individuality, celebrate the person I am, and be proud of the work I’ve done to get here. Yes, yes, and absolutely yes. I love a good message from the universe.

 I close my eyes, put my hands over my heart and breathe deeply, I find my peace once more. On the edge of sleep, I have one last thought . . .  

It’s okay to lose myself for a little while as long as I don’t lose my way. 

xoc 

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