Call Me After You Read This
Once upon a Tinder swipe.
I’m not sure when it started exactly, but I got into the habit of listening to ear-splitting music while I was in bed, fooling my brain into creating fake scenarios.
That day, I was trying to drown out the cries of my sister upon realizing I had drunk the yogurt she thought was well hidden in the fridge.
With my back to the bed, I imagined a gem-blue stream glistening with stardust. The stream sprung like a sedate dancer over the gleaming rocks. I heard the music fill my room instead of the sound of water splashing against the trees.
My brain was not doing enough with its magic; I needed a different kind of excitement. I opened my eyes, picked up my phone, and signed up for an online dating app — Tinder. I needed to see for myself what made the streets of Tinder so wild. I saw.
Without realizing it, I took my first leap toward you. My first relationship felt like a much anticipated movie with a terrible plot. I wanted to feel butterflies. I wanted to speak to someone and feel like I was lying in the clouds.
Unfortunately, we wanted to help each other without first discovering ourselves. Well, yeah. No butterflies. There was only heartbreak and a lot of tissues.
I mostly swiped right on anyone who seemed to have half a brain. After clawing my way through a bunch of guys who wanted to know what kind of clothing I slept in, my daily rate, and my bra size, I found you.
You had three odd pictures on your profile, but it was your stellar smile that drew me in. I was intrigued.
We spoke every day, about school, about the government, and anything we could think of. Your voice’s ethereal tone soothed my soul like an elixir. I’d lie in bed, texting and laughing.
My sisters were always singing about how bad things could get. I didn’t care because I had discovered a gem that I would soon foolishly discard.
Finally, after many late nights of texting, the meeting! It didn’t take a lot of time to pick my outfit because we were meeting a few blocks away and I didn’t want to appear to be trying too hard. I decided on blue jeans and a hoodie.
I stared at your sickle-shaped eyebrows as you walked towards me; you appeared a little sloppy. I immediately fell in love with your dark curly hair.
When you smiled at me, I averted my gaze. I am constantly at odds with the chemicals that prevent me from looking into the eyes of someone I care about.
You claimed you didn’t want to be so direct and invite me to your home — a stereotypical predatory male move. In all honesty, I was concerned that I might find myself in a psychopath’s hideout. All my worries vanished when I saw you, and all I could think about were baby names.
When we said our goodbyes, I risked a glance over my shoulder and met your gaze. I thought about your enthralling brown eyes all day. We walked around the block every week until I finally decided to visit. Everything was perfect, and I had never felt more at ease with someone.
The day the storm began was when you invited me over. You had made melon soup and invited me to try it. We sat on the couch, and I told you about my stressful day, all of my confusion, and how I felt like no part of my life was in order.
You were attentive, encouraging, and complimentary of my intellect. I was relieved to have someone listen to my never-ending squabbles. I was afraid you’d flee before I talked you to death. But you always just sat there and listened.
“Would you be my girlfriend?” you suddenly asked. I was quiet and confused. I told you I was not searching for a relationship. I just needed a friend, but we were clearly past that.
“I can’t… I am so sorry.” Misery was written all over your face. With no further explanation, we sat quietly. I was confused as to why I refused. I wanted you, but not in that way.
Maybe I was selfish. Or maybe I was delusional, thinking that the feelings would never build up. I wanted to enjoy the benefits of having someone without committing.
You didn’t text me like you usually do that day. There were no phone calls. I was disheartened. I knew I had hurt you and messed everything up. I tried to reach out, but still nothing.
I deleted my Tinder profile today. I threw my hands in the air and caught something beautiful, something that made my lonely life a little more bearable, something that sorted through my jumbled thoughts and gave them meaning.
I let it go away, I will still wait for you. I still wait to see your electrifying smile and taste those sugar-ridden pancakes of yours. Call me after you read this.
What was the silliest reason you ever lost someone you cared about? Do you want to talk to them again? This is the sign you need to pick up your phone and reach out. Don’t forget to leave your 50 claps. Kindly press down on the clap button.
