Standing on the Edge: When You Finally See It for What It Is

I don’t even know why I did it.
I let my stupidity — or maybe my hope — get the best of me, and I stuck with Josh.

What a fucking mistake that turned out to be.

He didn’t break my heart. I didn’t know him long enough for that.
But my ego? Yeah, that took a hit.
Maybe it was hormones. Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe I just wanted to believe there was something there.

And honestly, the sex wasn’t even that great. Predictable. Repetitive. Always the same moves, the same position — the one I liked the least.
Him sitting on top of me, riding me. Boring.
I had actually planned to spice things up today — until he texted me to say he was seeing someone else.

Someone he “hopes turns into a relationship.”

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

I stared at the message, read it twice, and responded calmly — thanked him for telling me. Because that’s who I am now. Calm. Measured. Mature.

Apparently, “the new guy” is 45. So let’s just call him Forty-Five.
Josh met him a month ago. Seems things are “progressing nicely.” Isn’t that sweet.

Meanwhile, here I’ve been — waiting, hoping, settling for scraps of attention — thinking we were figuring out where this was going. Turns out, while I was waiting, he was already somewhere else entirely.

The funny thing? We were supposed to go on a date today.
Park City.

I wanted to take him to the Park Silly Market, sit on the grass, listen to live music.
In my mind, he’d be sitting between my legs, leaning back against my chest, sun on his skin, music in the air. Maybe we’d walk around, laugh, take a silly photo wearing cowboy hats. Grab lunch somewhere.

I even told him I’d pick him up. He agreed.
But he said he wasn’t “feeling very sexual.”
And right then, I knew.

Something was off.

After he dropped the “I’m seeing someone” bomb, I canceled the date. No hesitation. I wasn’t about to drive him up to Park City, spend my time and money on him, and then sit through an awkward lunch pretending not to care.

He said, “That’s fair. Thanks for your understanding.”

My understanding.
Are you fucking kidding me?

I’m pissed. Furious, honestly.
Why lead me on? Why make plans, flirt, talk about the future — even joke about whether we’d “make love or fuck” before the drive — when you’re already seeing someone else?

Coward.

We talked nearly every day while I was on my trip to Montana.
I thought that meant something.
Apparently, it meant nothing.

There won’t be any more communication. I’m done.

I should’ve listened to my intuition — that quiet voice that kept saying, This isn’t it. He’s not it.
The age gap. The inconsistency. The constant effort to earn a sliver of his time. It was all right there, waving red flags I didn’t want to see.

I don’t want to mother someone. I don’t want to chase attention.
I want an equal.

Maybe Forty-Five fits better into his chaos. Maybe that’s what he wants.
I just hope he treats Forty-Five with more respect than he showed me.

No one deserves to be made to feel disposable.

Best of luck, Josh.
I mean that — but I also mean, Fuck you.

Because now I remember exactly what I don’t want.

— Standing on the Edge