But I tended not to date men who ever showed up for me.
I decided I would fill the emptiness in me with God and with paint.
I didn’t answer. We were not buddies. We could not chat about the proximity of our offices, or football, or forgiveness.
Each guy stamped the passport of my heart. “You’re worthy.” Stamp. “You’re enough.” “You have not failed completely.” Stamp, stamp.
The voice sang on, “I am ready, I am ready, I am fine. I am fine, I am fine, I am fine.” I played it again. I was not fine.