The Placeholder.

“He is not going to marry you; you are just a temp.”

The words of the woman pierced into my heart like a knife. She was right. I was wasting my time.
All these months, I was dating someone who turned me into a placeholder. I was the committed one, he was using me to pass time until “The One” showed up.
I am a five-foot nine-inch chic, Pretty face with a Master’s Degree in Computer science, but I can not keep a man. They walk in and out of my life like a bus stop. I thought in my pretty head that I was doing it right. I wore nice clothes, smelled good, my hair appointments were monthly, nail appointments were bi-weekly. I took trips four times a year. I attracted handsome men with everything going for them but commitment.
So, the question is, what am I doing wrong?
I met Philip in Cabo. He was the perfect boyfriend for me. When we got back to Los Angeles, we went on dates back-to-back. I was living my dream relationship. He had the hots for me and I felt the same way. Sex was ahhhhhmmazing. He was damn good in bed. It made me pray that I was not sharing him with any other woman.
Red roses at work.
Roses on my doorstep.
Foot rubs in the evening or weekends spent together.
Fancy dinners.
Front row seats at sporting events.
Surprise weekend getaways.
Expensive designer accessories.
Should I say more? Would you want what I had? Yes, and yes.
This was my perfect…