Rebound Dating Quotes

Alec surprised Magnus and the werewolf both by breaking away and lunging at Marcy. Whatever he had been planning, it didn’t work: this time the werewolf’s swipe caught him full in the chest. Alec went flying into a hot pink wall decorated with gold glitter. He hit a mirror set into the wall and decorated with curling gold fretwork with enough force to crack the glass across. “Oh, stupid Shadowhunters,” Magnus moaned under his breath. But Alec used his own body hitting the wall as leverage, rebounding off the wall and up, catching a sparkling chandelier and swinging, then dropping down as lightly as a leaping cat and crouching to attack again in one smooth movement. “Stupid, sexy Shadowhunters.

The current girlfriend, boyfriend, wife, or husband is often an utterly unsuccessful attempt to stop missing or loving the previous one.

women are terrifying creatures who sometimes expect the men around us to read our minds.

Because forbidden love with a hot, mysterious vampire?” she said, gesturing to her paranormal romance section. “I’m not only the president of that club, I’m also a member.

Two hundred years of work experience was a human resources nightmare.

Even after having months to adjust, Iris was “displeased” about my employment, which was like saying PETA was displeased by the popularity of TripleMeat Whataburgers.

But I'm not in danger of becoming "that girl." The one who throws away her college education in favor of marrying some guy right out of high school. The one who sacrifices everything she wants in order to make his dreams come true, to make him happy. The one who hangs on his every smile, his every word, bears his children, cooks his dinner, and snuggles up to him at night. Nope, definitely not in danger of becoming her. Because Galen doesn't want me. If that kiss were real, I might have thrown scholarships to the wind and followed him to our private island or his underwater kingdom. I might have even cooked him fish. Sure, Galen would love for me to do all those things. With his brother. So it's a good thing I'm being proactive about my own recovery by going on a date, even if it is a rebound-and even if I'm rebounding from a relationship that didn't actually exist. My feelings were real. That's all that matters, isn't it? There's no stipulation in the broken-heart rule book that states the relationship had to actually be authentic, right? Sure, I'm gray-shading the line that separates stable and crazy, but the point is, there is a line. And I haven't completely crossed over to lunatic.

I quickly found the dating/hookup app to be a dangerous addition to my iPhone. A friend recommended it after shit hit the fan with my boyfriend. With enough breakups under my belt, I knew that the healthiest remedy was a solid rebound fuck or two. Tinder made it easy- too easy. Suddenly, I could sit in traffic, on the toilet, or in line at the DMV and carelessly swipe, swipe, swipe my way to dick-on-delivery. Tinder selections are based on proximity via smart phones, so there are tons of tourists, travelers, and young professionals on business trips swiping through new hunting grounds. Its loose, easy-come-easy-go method made hookups as convenient as picking up lunch. Tinder’s nonchalance went both ways. We had nothing to lose.

Matt takes some time to settle himself before he speaks. When he does, he shares an anecdote about how Julie had written a book for him to have after she was gone, and she titled it, The Shortest Longest Romance: An Epic Love and Loss Story. He loses it here, then slowly composes himself and keeps going. He explains that in the book, he was surprised to find that near the end of the story—their story—Julie had included a chapter on how she hoped Matt would always have love in his life. She encouraged him to be honest and kind to what she called his “grief girlfriends”—the rebound girlfriends, the women he’ll date as he heals. Don’t mislead them, she wrote. Maybe you can get something from each other. She followed this with a charming and hilarious dating profile that Matt could use to find his grief girlfriends, and then she got more serious. She wrote the most achingly beautiful love letter in the form of another dating profile that Matt could use to find the person he’d end up with for good. She talked about his quirks, his devotion, their steamy sex life, the incredible family she inherited (and that, presumably, this new woman would inherit), and what an amazing father he’d be. She knew this, she wrote, because they got to be parents together—though in utero and for only a matter of months. The people in the crowd are simultaneously crying and laughing by the time Matt finishes reading. Everyone should have at least one epic love story in their lives, Julie concluded. Ours was that for me. If we’re lucky, we might get two. I wish you another epic love story. We all think it ends there, but then Matt says that he feels it’s only fair that Julie have love wherever she is too. So in that spirit, he says, he’s written her a dating profile for heaven. There are a few chuckles, although they’re hesitant at first. Is this too morbid? But no, it’s exactly what Julie would have wanted, I think. It’s out-there and uncomfortable and funny and sad, and soon everyone is laugh-sobbing with abandon. She hates mushrooms, Matt has written to her heavenly beau, don’t serve her anything with mushrooms. And If there’s a Trader Joe’s, and she says that she wants to work there, be supportive. You’ll also get great discounts. He goes on to talk about how Julie rebelled against death in many ways, but primarily by what Matt liked to call “doing kindnesses” for others, leaving the world a better place than she found it. He doesn’t enumerate them, but I know what they are—and the recipients of her kindnesses all speak about them anyway.

For the past three months I've been lodged in the staring-out-the-window-and burning-toast stage of grief. According to Dr. Rupert, I had a depressive breakdown brought on by grief...as though showing up at the office in your bathrobe is perfectly understandable. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of everyone else dying and leaving me behind. You don't feel as though you're having a conversation, ore as though you're listening to a book on tape, the title "Steve the Sales Guy Goes on a Dinner Date". Isn't there some way around having to start this new life without my husband? I can't return Crystal as though she's an appliance that broke before the warranty expired. I'm significant otherless. By the time he calls, maybe I'll be a ndw person with self-confidence and cute comebacks. Straight hair, a better job, a smaller waistline. How could I have managed to lose my husband, my job, my house, and my ass all in one year? I'm so eager for intimacy, I would date a tree. It's a myth that people experience grief for a certain amount of time and then they're over it. Nine of the fifteen pounds I want to lose cling to me like an overprotective mother who doesn't want me to take my pants off until I'm married again. Good-riddance list. It's a list of all the stuff you don't like about a guy. You're supposed to make it when you break up with someone. It's funny how you don't have to be related to someone to love them like family. Dangerous rebound guy. My grief is diminished, but it feels permanent, like a scar. Another grief gold star. Marion & Crystal moved in with me. How can I live happily ever after without loving someone again?

i didn't date, though i was asked more than i ever had been before, maybe because i was either needy and helpless or too brightly wild. maybe they saw an easy score as a rebound guy. but my heart wasn't in dating.no guy can measure up to Logan. i was simply empty inside, emptier than id been after Austin. i changed my bellybutton ring out for the one Lyssa and Jason gave me fo christmas, and put the peridot stud in my jewelry npx was in the back.and i finally took the dead way rose down from the corner and put it in a box back to my closet. to the outside world it may have looked like i was healing, but really i was dead inside and longing for Logan all the time. part of me wanted him to graduate and be gone so i could relax and not worry about running into him.part of me was glad he was still close by and looked for him around every corner. that part worried that id never see him again once he went out into the work world

Maddison de la Botella, licence to drill.

Had Zach just apologised for kissing her? She didn’t know whether to cry or slap his face. ~Maddie

knew. And his ex had seemed so kind on those first few dates, so infatuated with his Navy uniform, so enthusiastic in tearing up his bed. His ex-wife, a former stripper named Trish Bardoe, had married on the rebound a fellow by the name of Eddie Stipowicz, an unemployed engineer with a drinking problem. Lee thought she was heading for disaster and had tried to get custody of Renee on the grounds that her mom and stepfather could not provide for her. Well, about that time, Eddie, a sneaky runt Lee despised, invented, mostly by accident, some microchip piece of crap that had made him a gazillionaire. Lee’s custody battle had lost its juice after that. To add insult to injury, there had been stories on Eddie in the Wall Street Journal, Time, Newsweek and a number of other publications. He was famous. Their house had even been featured in Architectural Digest. Lee had gotten that issue of the Digest. Trish’s new home was grossly huge, mostly crimson red or eggplant so dark it made Lee think of the inside of a coffin. The windows were cathedral-size, the furniture large enough to become lost in and there were enough wood moldings, paneling and staircases to heat a typical midwestern town for an entire year. There were also stone fountains sculpted

Like the sifting ground, the scattered baleen, and this your body ancient turned upside down. Heart Swathing in Late Summer In the penumbra of an oak under sculpted Moonlight, we pile the last waking hours On our faces, breathe the wilderness of dry Heat waiting for fall ventilations. It feels Later than it is and the air is already mouthing The date for tomorrow. At least now, our eyes Can fall into the craters of a waterproof Reflection, and we stop for a moment to fill Ourselves with the kind of light that can only Be found in the dark. What is night if not for It being a repetition of unlit squares glued Jointly, plastered against the thought of midday. What is not seeing but to echolocate a name. It’s how I find your chin when I can’t sense The meaning of your hands. Weeks ago, it was Astral rebounds, shiny hinges. We harvested The fertile Perseids posed recumbent In the back of a flatbed, tallying the mineral Opulence reserved for those who wait. Not Ever so many in return. Now this moon in its Entirety has never looked so much like A distant circular kite set ablaze, doused by The kind of burning a man feels when he hears The humming of rain against a woman’s bare neck.

it occurs to her that their friendship exists in a perfect, fragile bubble of right now. If Josh was five percent less picky, he’d have a rebound girlfriend. If the fog of breakup failure wore off tomorrow…well, Ari probably wouldn’t be “dating” in the same way, but she’d be a functional human who wouldn’t need someone else to talk her to sleep over the phone several nights a week.