Jim lost track of Rosalie after she went to London.
Five years later he just wanted to keep things together with Leanne. They were both travelling for work and seemed to do half their talking online.
He logged on. New messages—three from Leanne, a Nigerian scam, ads, and something from rosieb—probably another lonely Russian. Something made him open it. ‘Hi Jimbo. Rosalie, here. Long time no see. London’s been amazing for me—well I guess you know…’
Darling of the West End—he’d seen the headlines.
‘…I’ll be home for summer. We could catch up? –R.’
They’d have nothing in common. Maybe he’d answer later.
He opened the three from Leanne. Her words seemed distant, as if she were fading from him. If he let things drift they’d finish just friends, laughing about past passion. Jim hated that thought. He’d never written anything like it. Never tried to say what words seemed incapable of saying. When he hit send, an hour later, he was still unaware he’d clicked ‘reply’ on the wrong window.
Rosalie quoted him on Twitter. Romance isn’t dead…
Leanne got the redirected message next morning. She’d already read the most heartfelt of Jim’s words. Bah, she thought, hitting delete. It’s not even his drivel.
small stories about love 