I was sure it was him.He was standing at the counte of the Chinese take out and all I could really see was his back, but I could make out his profile on a dar night, in a storm, through a frosted wind screen...anytime, anywhere

He turned and looked straight at me, and I am sure I levitated at least a foot off the ground.  He had less hair at the front, and his once jet black moustache was now tinged with gray, but the eyes were jut as piercing and the voice, when he said, “Hi” was the same rich graveled honey that I remembered from 20 years ago.

Next thing I know we are having a drink at the smoke - filled bar two doors down, and playing catch-up.  He’s divorced with two “delightful” pre-teen daughters, while I have never “succumbed” to marriage, and have raised a now-adult son.  He is “really happy” with a 9 to 5 selling new technologies to powerful clients, and I am  “really happy” in the three jobs I juggle “because boredom would kill me if I didn’t.”

After three hours of inane talk,the realities set in. “She never understood my needs,” becomes “I have never felt as lonely as the day she left.”

“Men are disposable,” is now “Why am I so easy to leave?”

And then we both get to, “Why didn’t we work out twenty years ago?”

Miss Match gets to the core of this question in the Summer/Fall issue of Basia Magazine....on sale now!