A recent writing

At 5 in the afternoon, she knew for sure that he wasn’t going to call. This one she had pinned high hopes on even though all the telltale signs of danger and incompatibility had clearly been there.

And she felt a tremendous sense of ease and release—she had thought that the disappointment would be fierce—she had liked this one a lot. But she was learning that while there might not be a Divine Plan, there was a Spirit of the Universe that wished her well, wished for her highest good, and he wasn’t part of it.

So she made herself a cup of tea and took down an orange from the red bowl on top of the refrigerator. She sat herself down at the dining room table and focused on the brilliant red and fuschia primroses that had sprung up lush and unbidden in the pot she had neglected since August, its dirt covered with moss and grass.

She felt no more alone than earlier in the day when she had thrown herself into a tedious editing job to make the time go faster. Was she angry that he’d said he’d call and hadn’t? A little. What was it she wanted anyway? To be saved from her loneliness or to be saved from more bad choices? Both, she knew.

The tea had cooled in the cup and the orange had been eaten unknowingly, unmindfully. She scolded herself. Her heart ached a bit—she so wanted the happiness she could feel was out there, the deep connection that others seemed to have. She sighed and got up and went back to work.