The northern line to Tufnell Park station

I’m disappointed the romantic fantasy didn’t work out. How could anything measure up to what you created in your imagination? It couldn't. I’ve set myself up for failure going into this week and blame the universe with ease. The unfulfilled whirlwind romance is creating a small hole in the pit of my stomach. I ordered another wine which helps to fill it.

A couple who look to be in their 70's have sat down beside me and are debating the menu at the pub. They seem ordinary and sound like any aging couple. They bicker about the table placement as they get comfortable. I go on pretending to read my book. After a couple minutes I glance at them again and they have started looking at photos of themselves from earlier that day and they are linking arms to stay close, allowing them a better view of the wife’s cell phone screen.  They swipe through their photos to find a favorite. They are the fantasy I imagined, in all their flaws, companionship, and nothing interesting to say. I pull my eyes back to my table and realize I forget pieces of my fantasy now.  Or at least I have to try harder to remember the disappointment I was just wallowing in a moment ago.  

It’s midday and the BBC is on the telly because it's London. The news is dire around the globe. I guess that should give me perspective? Easier said. But then the pints keep flowing with new patrons entering the pub. Somehow the predictable cycle of drinkers soothes me more.  

The older man is now rubbing his wife’s back. A gesture to acknowledge her, to remind her he loves her no matter how often he says it. They switch to talking sports. The BBC coverage has also switched to a daily sports wrap up. 

I tilt my head back and take in the rest of my wine too quickly. 

It’s Monday, which in my case means the week is over. The Elizabeth line will soon drop me at Heathrow Airport. The Northern Line never took me to where I was going.  He never showed at the station nor at the corner pub on Leverton St. I waited in vain. To be fair I hadn’t exactly told him to meet me there. I wasn’t able to reach him before I left New York.  After all, he doesn't exist. 

Location: Pub in Shoreditch, London