Instead of spelling out ‘sup austin’ just type out an entire manifesto dedicated to how each and every day I worry that I’m becoming more and more closed off and more and more dead inside. Instead of thinking out witty banter and Googling how close in proximity his favorite bar is to my house for when I need to Irish just spilling my guts and saying how swiping is killing me inside and being alone is all I know. Instead of looking coy and trying to come off as interesting as someone fucking can on an app designed to make one night stands even easier I stop being polite and start getting real. I admit that I don’t remember what it feels like to be wanted. I admit that I don’t remember what it feels like to actually want someone. I admit that the last time I invited a man over it felt like just going through the motions. And I still cringe when I think about how he tried to kiss me goodbye. I admit that I looked at Instagrams captioned with things like 213 weeks ago and I got immediately depressed obsessing over how 213 weeks ago me would probably feel about the me today. I admit there are days when I don’t love myself or the world or anything or anyone and it feels like everything would be easier if I were someone else. I admit I’m not here for relationships, or a good time, I’m just here for something to do. And even that feels like a stretch. I admit that I’m not sure I’ll ever love him, but that’s okay because I definitely know he’ll never love me. And that it’s probably better if we just get that out of the way now so they don’t have to claim to have known what they were signing up for by even looking at me.
That feels like a mouthful. And isn’t charming. And pushes being boring. And would be more honest than I’ve been in months.
“hey austin. how bad will your parents judge us for meeting on tinder??”