Collision Course

I may be a collision course of a woman, all mud and broken ribs.

After you’ve been tossed off the monster truck of my emotions, that trip in the fuel-efficient hybrid feels good, doesn’t it?

Perhaps I am reading far too into these figures, but there is a noticeable trend. With the exception of the British boy I left behind my semester abroad, my former boyfriends all ran as far away from me as possible and straight into the arms of another, calmer, woman.

Here are the numbers:

The first is happily married in Chicago.
The second is engaged in Hawaii.
The third is still yearning in England.
The fourth is in a serious relationship in Ukraine.

And that leaves me a warpath of a whirlwind in New York – all broken bones, black and blues, and bloody noses. Come back soon. Wish you were here.

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One response to “Collision Course

  1. You’re too young. If you’re still leaving a trail of frightened wimps in your wake ten years from now, you’ll be onto something.

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