There’s always that one person who gets beneath your skin. The what could have been, the one who got away. The thing that keeps us from completely letting go is that tantalising, lingering niggle that Things Could Have Been Different.
No matter how torturous and tear-filled my break ups I have usually managed to get to the point where relief kicks in. I realise that it wouldn’t have worked and can see that our future together would have been marred and tarnished. Sometimes I can even feel pleased for them when they move on and find happiness. But then there’s just that one…
My friends all have a Mr Big too, their longevity intensified by Facebook. And the thing they do that keeps us hanging on? They play the game, and they play it well. The timing of their sporadic messages is impeccable, and they’re skilled at dangling a tentative carrot in front of our noses with some blasé comment - which sounds casual and spontaneous but is actually very well thought out - that infers they’ve finally got it together. It all sounds very nice and anticipation blooms once again, but then they vanish. A while later, just when you’re giving up hope and feeling ready to call it a day, your phone vibrates and there they are. And so the cycle continues. We just can’t stop that longing, somewhere deep inside, that Mr Big is going to come to Paris and rescue us from the manipulative Russian. Or is that just me?
We know we’re not going to find Ms or Mr Right if we insist on holding on to Mr/s Wrong. So we have to really, really try and let go. It’s so good in theory, and is also great in practice. It takes a lot of hard work and possibly a few more tears, but if we can bring ourselves to break the stagnant circuit we’re stuck in we might just find our niche.
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