"From big words to nothing." I should write a book called that. And the subtitle would be The story of my fucking life. “Date Girl” disappeared for almost two days. I thought she had ghosted me and tried to figure out what the fuck I had done wrong. Perhaps she had found my blog and read my dirty, fucked up stories. Or simply didn’t really like me and decided to shut down our communication. “Well, back to Tinder,” I thought. “I’m in a good run, anyway.”
Soon I felt tired of it. Got all existential about it, as usual. I was also physically exhausted. T came last night to “watch a movie.” To be fair, we did watch When Harry met Sally. The first 20 minutes, more less. I understood then the whole “Netflix and chill” concept. We ended up fucking on the couch one more time. “A last fuck before settling down with my new girl,” I thought then. Before noticing the ghosting.
The disappearance of this girl didn’t bother me much. I felt some degree of relief even. Leaving singleness behind didn’t seem so great. Not at all, really. Just when things were getting interesting, I was going to achieve a level of calm incompatible with writing. Decadence, that disgraced curse, fuels my words. Those beautiful flowers growing from rotting shit.
Research. Being single allows me to gather all this priceless experience, all these stories awaiting to be told. Life provides. I take. I write. Whether it’s crap, decent enough or fucking genius, I write.
“Maybe you are not the right person to ask, considering the relationship you have with your husband,” I said, caressing T’s face; our naked bodies tangled under a cheap duvet.
“What do you want to ask?” she said, staring at some unknown universe in the wall.
“When does one become exclusive here in Denmark? I mean, how long after you start dating?”
“There are no rules, I think. You just feel it.”
I was looking too many steps ahead in my unexistent relationship with Date Girl. An hour ago, she put an end to the ghosting and these ideas. “Sorry for not replying. I panicked. I felt maybe I’m not ready to be with just one person,” she wrote. I answered I was also freaking out, for the exact same reason. And I liked her a tad more. Her shy honesty. And the freedom I feel after it.