This is how it starts:
Numbers and snap chat usernames are exchanged. They ask for your last name so they can stalk you on social media – you comply and do the same. Since you’re a woman, you have better lurking skills than the FBI; you find something disheartening. Quickly, they become just another person – just another guy. You roll your eyes and you don’t trust them. But then you talk to them more. You think that they’re the right amount of asshole mixed in with sweet. They’re funny. They seem to take a liking to your interests and what you do. They actually listen to you, and care about what you have to say. They seem to like the way you think, which is different. They openly tell you that you’re attractive, and not to sleep with you. You talk everyday, all day when you can. You deny to yourself that you appreciate their presence and their conversation. You start to kind of like them but you deny that, too. They want to see you as much as they can because they take a liking to you – you’re interesting. You feel good because it’s nice, it’s different. You tell each other things. You don’t think you annoy them because they make you feel like they want to talk to you. If you send a Snapchat, they’ll snap you back. You form a daily routine. You wake up to texts from them and you like it. You don’t feel like you’re annoying if you text them first, though. And that’s the best feeling. There are nice comments made about you – nice comments in general. Things that make you wonder, things that make you hopeful.
This is how it ends:
A few months in: both of you become busy. Due to recent events, you start to question what just happened and you start to question yourself. You don’t really send any more snaps because you don’t always get them back. They talk to you a little less. They seem wrapped up with different things, and you want to help but also don’t want to be a burden. You start realizing that you’re both actually really different. Now you’re in deeper than you were before. Shit. You can’t get in, though: you can’t get into what’s going on in their head or their heart. You’re trying, but you’re failing, just how you failed last time. So you question yourself. You doubt this person. You doubt everything that just happened and the feelings that slowly formed. You’re playing it off like it doesn’t bother you. You start telling yourself that it’s nothing. That you’re all good. You think that’ll make the rejection easier, but it never does, does it? Your mind starts telling you things – it conjures up the most irrational of situations. It has to be you. You’re just too much when you’re not even whole yet. You’re a difficult person that not everyone knows how to handle. You try to become distant because you think they are. And at this moment, you’re waiting for the ball to drop – you’re itching to be proven right: that you’re not the right person for them. That it probably won’t work. That you’re both doing different things with your lives. You wait for that conversation, and when you don’t get it, you worry. Your anxiety is unbearable because you don’t know anything. And you push them away. Despite having conversations of why you do, and of your insecurities. You thought they understood, but that was when it started. The conversation eventually happens, but it doesn’t make it any less painful just because you were expecting it, even though you think it does. It doesn’t. You nod. You smile. You comply. You tell them your infamous line, though the thought makes you cringe because you didn’t think you’d have to ever use it with them. You say you’ll remain friends. They become another failed prospect that you write about.