I ran into the Elevator Crush for the second time in two days. Totally unfazed by the whole thing. We exchanged smiles and small talk. He sounded busy as usual. Too busy for a girlfriend. Too busy to even consider it. His shirt was untucked unkindly. His hair was longer than the last time I saw him. My hair is shorter, but amess. I thought of the last time we kissed, maybe a year ago. He was never a great kisser. I never missed that.
He had a great apartment by Piedmont Park. A giant glass desk and lots of design books. He had a small gap in his teeth that I never minded. I remember watching him while he primped in the morning. He gave me the play-by-play everytime he had to switch razors, combs, and gels. We never played pool, just had long great conversations about people, business, love, being spies. He would have made a terrific spy, and from the moment I realized this, I decided that “being a good spy” was goint to be an essential requirement for a suitable partner.
I am putting this to rest. Retiring this crush I have been harbouring for months. The timing had never been right, and he was never a great kisser. He’s about himself, and I’m about growing into a couple. There was never any room in his life for a girl like me, and after months of elevator encounters and spontaneous lunch dates, I can watch him walk away without wondering whether he’ll walk back into my life again. Letting go never felt so good.