There are few things as hopeful as the feeling you get when you make a connection with someone. You try not to jump the gun.
After all, you get weird when there's too much sensitivity or too many lovey-dovey moments. You want a guy who's rational and won't let his feelings dictate his reactions, and it seems like this might be him.
He loves his family and his friends. He has goals, but he has some wanderlust, too. You can hold an intelligent conversation with your clothes on, with coffee as the only lubricant.
You're excited to see where this goes, and that feeling grows ever so slightly when he mentions how much he's looking forward to taking you out again.
But, that date never happens. Suddenly, your prospect disappears, just like the men who came before him and those who have yet to surface.
What did you do? What did you say to negate the weeks or months of consistent dates, of meeting his friends, of making dinner together?
You know you aren't clingy, and you know you aren't crazy. So, what flipped the switch?
This letter is for the guy who quit you cold turkey while you were still addicted. It's for the guy who didn't allow himself the privilege to be loved by you.
How are you doing? You're probably thinking the same thing you always said: Good, but busy. Work is crazy, and you've been hanging with friends. Crazy how time flies, right?! Heading out of town next weekend, but you'd love to get together sooner rather than later.
But would you, really?
Let me tell you how I've been: I've been nostalgic. Maybe it's due to all the Taylor Swift I've been listening to, or maybe, it's your overly-edited Instagram photos, or maybe it's that unsolicited dick pic I got last week that scared the sh*t out of me.
Regardless, I've been missing someone comfortable and sane who appreciates my love of coffee and early mornings without sending me questionable photos out of left field.
I've been lonely. I sit around and watch my best friends in loving relationships, so I know I'm not reaching for the stars when I say I eventually want something like that. Men are out there; I'm looking at them.
I'm actually looking at guys who genuinely care for other people more than themselves, but for the life of me, I can't seem to locate a single guy like that for myself.
I've been pissed off. I don't mean to toot my own horn, here, but I'm great — fantastic, even. I'm not unfortunate looking, I know I'm not clingy, I don't expect gifts and I love girls nights probably more than you love boys nights.
I'm intelligent, I'm self-sufficient, I have my own dreams and I don't expect a guy to foot the bill every time.
So, what the hell gives? Was I really that bad? I doubt it, considering our intermittent texting. So, why is this whole dating thing so difficult, so taxing?
I've been confused. During the time we spent "hanging out," you seemed to enjoy my company. I never asked you if you were seeing — much less, sleeping with — anyone else, partly because I didn't care.
I was comfortable with the somewhat slow pace with which we were getting to know one another, and, frankly, I didn't want to be tied down yet, either.
I never tried to be your girlfriend. I never gave you the third-degree about your whereabouts if I wasn't with you because it was none of my business.
I didn't bring you a love fern a la Kate Hudson, but I did bring you Knicks tickets. Why? Because you seemed like a chill person to watch basketball with. That was my only motivation.
I never jumped the gun about what we were, but it was hard not to see promise. You loved the world as much as your friends and family.
You read books for enjoyment and encouraged weekday adult sleepovers. You asked to take me to breakfast and refused to let me pay.
But suddenly, it stopped. We went from friends with a possible future to nothing.
And, I'm confused about why. I get that you didn't want to date me anymore (and I use the term "date" loosely, mind you). But, if that's the case, why couldn't you say that?
You couldn't have seriously been concerned that I'd do something as crazy as light your things on fire if you uttered those words. So, if you don't want to keep dating me, just admit it. I promise I'll survive.
I'm confused about why you'll text me and ask me out when you clearly have no intention to see me in the real world.
Why would you even say anything along that vein? If you don't want to see me — which you clearly do not — then don't say anything at all.
I'm confused as to why you enable me when I find myself in a moment of Tinder-fueled weakness and text you first.
You don't actually give a damn about me, and I know that, but when I'm in a rare spot of allowing myself to feel needy, you capitalize on it for what I can only assume is your own amusement.
Please stop. Put me out of my misery. Tell me no, shoot me down, text me you appreciated our friendship, but it's over and you've moved on. Tell me anything. Confess that you're in love with someone else, whether you are or you aren't. I'll be grateful.
I'll be grateful because for some sick, masochistic reason, I keep holding out an unrequited hope for you, and I don't know why.
You're great, but you're not that great. You're smart, but you're not that smart. You're attractive, but you're no Hemsworth.
This is embarrassing. I've never begged someone to hang out with me, and I can't believe I've started now.
For whatever reason, you dropped the ball, and I know that. You talk the talk, but you don't walk the walk, and I deserve someone who does.
If you miss me, tell me. If you want me, tell me and if you need me gone, out of your life, moved on, with someone else, anything... tell me.
You dropped the ball, and one day you'll realize that. I know that, too. But, if you don't mean the words you're feeding me, then stop. Let me go. Let me breathe.
Wishing us both the best,