Dude.
Dude.
What are you doing? Come on.
When my phone pings and it’s you. Unexpectedly. Again. I am just like, “…” I do not get it. I really want to get it! Please! But your reasoning is just unfathomable to me.
We don’t talk anymore. We’re not friends. You are with someone else. So what is your aim? I really want to know. Is this a game to you? Is it like, “Hey, let’s see if this chick is still willing to respond to me.” Is this funny? Is this meaningless? Does it kill your boredom?
I just…okay. Walk me through your thought process, please. I really just want to understand. I’m going to try to outline it.
We used to hook up. Then we stopped hooking up. Then we stopped hanging out. Then we stopped talking. This was an inordinate amount of time ago. We have nothing to talk about.
But every so often, interspersed through time and space like I don’t know, some texting version of Haley’s Comet, you resurface with a message.
“hey.”
“‘sup?”
And like, cool. Great. That’s your prerogative. You can go into hiding and then come forward like blurry Bigfoot footage where you’re like, “Is that really a text from you or is that like, a guy in a gorilla suit punching letters into an iPhone?” Do you exist? Or are you just infrequent footsteps found on the grounds of the Pacific Northwest?
Here’s what I imagine: You’re sitting at home, or you’re out at a bar. You’re bored. You remember something we used to do together or something I told you or a song reminds you of me or whatever. You scroll through your phone contacts and find my name. You hit enter and begin to type. Your last message to me shows up. It was sent four months ago and reads, “lol” in response to something mundane that I replied to your last random text with. That was the end of it.
“Yes,” you think. “This is definitely the girl I need to be hitting up right now. She will absolutely want to hear from me out of nowhere.”
Cut to: Me living my life.
My phone vibrates. I open it and it’s a text from you. In your mind, I imagine I grin? My fingers fly to the keys. “Oh blessed day!” I proclaim to my hot bi-curious porn-star-looking female friends. “This fantastic gentleman has once again graced me with his textual eloquence! Oh joy! Oh rapture! I am but so privileged to engage in meaningless, uncaring small talk with someone whose ulterior motives I will never glean!”
Cut it out.
Why are you still texting me? Why? Our conversations never go anywhere. They are never about anything. And they don’t lead to anything. You don’t care what I’m up to. Not really. You don’t want to see me again. You don’t want to be friends. So I just don’t get your clockwork compulsion.
Are you trying to hook up with me? Are you trying to cheat on your new partner? Are you THAT insecure and indecisive that you need to know if I’ll still write you back? Please.
Grow up and give it up. Take a second and just think about what you’re doing and why. It is not harmless. It is stupid. You are being stupid.
Stop texting me. Live your life. Because I am living mine. 
