Dear you,

I got your message late last night. It was 5 simple words strung together but if that same sentence was sent by any one of my other friends I wouldn’t have spent the rest of my night trying to decode what it could have possibly meant. You have a way of getting inside my mind without even trying and I feel like the bratty kid on the playground yelling, “It’s not fair!” as I pout by the slide.

I don’t know why I let you do this to me. It’s been many years now of always the same thing from you. I am a strong, confident woman who doesn’t like to play these types of games.

And yet I do it. This can’t even be a letter of rant toward just you or the rest of the male gender because we, as human beings, are all guilty of it. Male and female alike. We all have that certain person that is just slightly more into us than we can reciprocate.  So we continue to string them along with small, encouraging words just to keep the interest alive.

It’s sick, twisted and yet I’m guilty of it too. There have been men in my life that have only heard from me in my darkest of days, the days when they were least expecting it. They never get the best of me, only the worst and no one deserves that kind of treatment.

I guess what truly bothers me about our short conversations is that they are just that, short. Nothing ever more than the basics, no depth or intensity can be found within the words we send by screen. I long for more. I long for your face attached to the mind of someone that can entertain me for longer than an hour. I am part of a generation that thinks intimacy can come from a few ’bouts of small talk and I can’t seem to stop the pattern.

So I’ll continue my pity party and sulk in my corner and try to forget about you and the way you make my heart speed up by the obnoxious, ‘Hey’ late at night. And I’ll succeed until I hear from you again in approximately 27 days.

Hopefully.

I’ll be waiting.

Love,
Me

(Seems appropriate.)