I don't think I fully appreciated (or appreciated at all) how difficult it would be to fall in love in middle age. It used to be so easy - it smacked me in the face; I didn't see it coming. Sometimes it happened when I didn't want it to.
And now, now that I know what it is and what it can be, I don't know if I am capable of it, even if I do find it (which is feeling more and more questionable).
I find myself starting to accept things I normally wouldn't, just for the possibility of maybe being in love some day. And then I catch myself: if he's not going to put any effort into it, why should I? I have far more respect for myself than to be someone's option, or his backup plan.
I'm not above pursuing him; no, I won't give in to the sexist notion of a woman needing to be pursued. But the pursuit should be mutual. If he's worth it, than so am I.
Ignore me and eventually I'll forget about you. It's that simple.
And it's ok if it means I'm alone; I happen to like me.
