She & Him

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CC Image courtesy of mRio on Flickr

It went like this.

Me: Witty question, though I say so myself.

Him: One-word response.

Me: Witty question.

Him: Two-word response.

Must be love.

Me: Question.

Him: Question…

Finally, a sign of life.

… though not a very encouraging one.

Me (fed-up): Response.

Silence.

Feelings of sadness, self-loathing… depression.  Blaming of Beatrice, first in my head, then out loud, that is, via online chat.

The following evening, Beatrice and I go to a housewarming.  We last a couple of hours.

‘So, anyone?’ I say, en route to the station.

‘No.  You?’

‘No.’

Besides a sweet girl who works in films and who I would later go to considerable lengths to track down the name of – the kind of lengths people in films go to to track down the love of their life, but since I didn’t meet the love of my life

I get in, drop my stuff on the table in the sitting room, and go through to the kitchen to make a drink.

Mug in hand, I flop down on the sofa.  My phone is blinking.  I swipe the screen and there it is, the distinctive orange logo.  And the words,

You have a new Tinder message from Viable Prospect.

That’s not exactly what it says.

I stare lovingly at the screen, open and close the window a few times, revisit his Facebook profile.  Birds are singing by the time I do finally hit the hay.

CC Image courtesy of mallix on Flickr



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