There it is, in black and white. An actual, real live break up text. Just like you see in the tabloids and Taylor Swift songs. But, guess what folks? I’m not a teenage girl and he’s not a teenage boy. All is not forgiven. The thing is, we aren’t even in our early twenties. We didn’t grow up with text message as a normal form of communication. We are in our thirties…early thirties, but still. We should be grown up enough to pick up the phone. Yet, here it is…sitting in my inbox…a dark looming little grey bubble on my iphone. Next to my pretty little green bubble asking “hey…what’s the plan for tonight”, the grey bubble looks so daunting and scary. Or, maybe pathetic and pussyish (is that a word? It is now, as it seems most appropriate).
Here’s the thing…
I knew this relationship was wrapping up. I could not continue to date someone who is so unavailable emotionally. I tried…I knew I did my best to see if there was something more here. I was honest with him about my feelings, I didn’t sleep with him until a couple months in. I did everything right. I knew deep down that it wasn’t going to work, but I wanted to make sure that I knew I had done all that I could so that I could leave it with no regrets. And, despite the immature text, I still have none. I am sad for him mostly. How sad that someone can’t let go of whatever it is in his past that’s made him f’ed up emotionally. I’ve never met anyone this scared of commitment. It must be hard to be such a stereotype. The guy can’t even commit to furniture…what 34 year old rents a furnished apartment? His computer isn’t even his. I should have had a clue when I asked him if he recommended I buy the extra warranty on my iphone and he said “I’m not going to buy it because I’m going to upgrade to the next model when it comes out”. Of course you are…wonder what her name is…
