Confronting the Platonic Elephant

Heartache: I’m past his prime — prime time to move on

When we got together, thirteen years ago, my man-friend said he hadn’t been with anyone since his wife died, in 1998. Nor did he intend to. As he said, in words, I shall never forget: I’m not proud to admit this, but the truth is I’m not attracted to women my age. He was approaching 62; I was 52.

He admits to being undemonstrative; he rarely said the L-word to his wife. He said it to me, once, twelve years ago, in our first week of a time-out (for bad behavior — kidding/not kidding).

After a four-month hiatus, I retreated to his tentative embrace. With coaching, he learned to introduce me simply as “Liz,” without the cringe-worthy qualifier: … a friend of mine. (To which I’d snidely append: One of hundreds.)

It’s been twelve years since love was whispered in a moment of weakness. I no longer listen for it. I console myself: with no interest in other “older” women (read my rant), he won’t cause me heartbreak. Hence the subtitle: Heartache.

You may rightly wonder why I am still “with” him. It is the paradox of our limited partnership that I’ve long considered myself to be single. He acknowledges my wish to find someone not averse to the L-word. Alas, not happening.

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