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Uh oh. I look at my reflection in the mirror and watch my chest rise. Heave. Tighten. I hear my heart in my ears, beating like a stampede of horses desperately racing toward the finish line.
“Breathe,” I whisper, redirecting my attention to the waves that fall from my scalp. To my blonde highlights and naturally bronzed skin. To anything other than the nervous excitement that reverberates through my body when thinking about Eric while curling my hair or driving down Sunrise Highway and later missing my exit.
Eric. He typed his way into my life on Bumble on a spring day in May, and I’m feeling things I’ve never felt before. We mirror each other in ways that I’ve only read in romance novels and on blogs that describe a “soul mate connection.”
“This feels different,” I say to my reflection in the mirror. My chest loosens as I mentally acknowledge that I am not the person that I was 3 years ago: a woman that didn’t feel worthy of a reciprocal relationship. A woman ill equipped to handle an authentic and vulnerable connection.
“Breathe,” I repeat, as it dawns on me that that woman only wanted to be chosen. So much so that she engaged in relationships with men that didn’t deem her worthy of choice. They cheated, choosing other woman, or they were emotionally unavailable.
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