It started off like any other flirtatious conversation, with each new notification that popped up so did the butterflies in my stomach. The thing I didn’t know at the time was that actions speak louder than texts. So here we are wasting a month of my quickly fleeting youth on responding to his cute and time consuming messages, as I’m sure anyone can relate to. We finally reunited weeks earlier than the normal ending to break to continue what we started before we left for the holidays.
However paradise, and the whirlwind of such an experience came to a screeching halt when he started leaving me on read. Truly anyone with a crush inevitably fears such a moment in time when the person they like looks at the thoughtful, presentable text you wrote and decided you weren’t important enough to respond. So as someone who often cares too much for those around her, I double texted. Which, as an unspoken rule, our generation and the generation before understand the complex and risky decision to send two speech bubbles instead of just one. When he would respond to those, they would be bland and flavorless, which in reality is much worse than coming up with an excuse as to why he never responded in the first place.
Flashforward to the final week of the relationship facade he created, he began to act as if we weren’t even friends. It was toxic, and I soon got warped into the drama and complications of whatever was going on between us, which I vowed to never get into the first place. We have all been there, believing something will be simple and that hiccups in the road will cease to exist as long as they fill you up with the cliche words “You’re different.” I might be, but he was the same carbon copy poster child for a college boy. No surprise, but I was still stung, wondering why I wasn’t good enough. It reeks, the stench of uncertainty wafts throughout the room where the ‘talk’ we were all waiting for occured.
He never explained the true answer why, or how long he had been thinking about ending us, more or less, ending it with me. Because, in reality, was there ever an ‘us?’ Sure, he had told me things, fed my deep lurking insecurities about where we stood for long enough so they didn’t grumble every time we hung out, but did he ever mention me to his friends? Or was a part of the game he played was keeping me a secret; all to himself, until everyone found out and he started to rapidly fly south as far away from cuffing season the wings of his ego could take him. It didn’t matter, because in the days that followed he texted me more than ever, attempting to preserve the friendship that we once had. An occasional good morning text and his complaints about his personal matters and I, continuing the terrible cycle, responded. I couldn’t take knowing that I still cared more than he ever would.
So in my final act, self-preservation in mind, took it upon myself to do what I hate most in the texting world, putting people on do not disturb. Although guilt made me second guess my decision, it was easier for me to take a deep breath and detox (at least for a while) from the mess of a month I had journeyed through. Time to heal from falling off the bike of relationships. Not as disastrous as a car crash or train wreck as it did not get passed the ‘talking’ stage, but it still left me with some cuts and bruises. Temporary and quick healing perhaps, knowing that I could train myself to not sit around and wait for a speech bubble to pop up, a ring or vibration knowing that he responded to my words. Because in truth, this action rung louder than any notification could.
For those around me, wanting more from others, the obvious advice of the idea that you should in fact keep your guard up, wants to escape my mouth and fingers typing this article. However, the challenge is to not keep your walls up, but to avoid knocking down the one that holds up your self control and worth. If you have to sit around and wait for him to text back one word answers, you’re already enabled on his ‘do not disturb ‘.