Marie and I went to Jackon Heights Saturday. We wanted to take a field trip somewhere in town neither of us have previously visited. Just before the elite Marathon runners arrived on Bedford this morning, hours before the applause began roaring and cowbells began ringing, Marie left. I don't expect to see her again. There's not much I can do about it except roll with it.
Don't get me wrong. I like Marie, quite a bit. But it's not reciprocated. She's not the type to directly admit disinterest in me but it became clear to me this morning that there's just nothing there. I bet I'll hear from her, maybe out of what she considers courtesy. She'll then commence fading. I'll follow her lead. There's no sense in pursuit, no way to turn this around. There's nothing there.
This thing, dating or whatever it was, began in August and will end in diminuendo in November, probably with erratic texts. Our amount of interactions will eventually taper down to nothing, time between interactions will increase, and all connections, inevitably, will cease. Our after work, late night meetups in the neighborhood will be one more thing to forget about. That's at least until next year around this time when something like the sound of cowbells in the street or I spot someone sobbing into her lobster bisque after a rough day, when something like that brings up memories of this.