i wrote Z. to have some news about her life. she was excited about her second date with this new guy.
kind of the perfect modern prince. tall. PhD. attractive mind. european with asian eyes.
the fact that he lives in a castle just added up.
how was the chateau weekend?, i asked her. ‘it was all about dinners, baths, flowers, movies and walks in the woods’, she said.
the week after she gave me the update: ‘he loved bombed me, fucked me and ghosted me. i had a Hinge fairytale’, she said.
i was heartbroken. what kind of sociopath would put such big effort for a one night stand.
sometimes transactional is beautiful, i thought. ‘it’s just sex’ can be poetic. because it’s direct and straightforward. which is rare today.
the day after i had some drinks with J. before the sacred souls gig. ‘i broke-up with T. turned out we had a big fight and it just didn’t feel right.’
can we consider a break up a relationship of 2 months, i asked myself.
‘so now i am back to dating apps’, she said. ‘before going to bed, i like to check how my matches are going, saying hello, how was your week, we should meet, this kind of treat’.
‘but are your intentional about it or it’s just like a modern version of tamagotchi?’, i asked. ‘you feed them with enough attention to keep them just as a collection, making yourself busy, making you feel pretty’.
she didn’t answer. she didn’t laugh either.
i was with B. on my way to see a gig of Brent Faiyaz. ‘i know the artist because his songs are in the playlists of my ex’, she said.
‘the first one was named euphoria. the second one dementia. and the last one, when we broke up, is called amnesia’.
nothing to add, i told myself.
the next weekend A. told me about her night. she was embarrassed because her friend yelled to his situation-ship in the middle of the night.
‘be clear with her!’, she yelled at him.
‘i already am’, he answered back. ‘i just want to be friends having some nudes for once in a while’.
friendship as it best, i thought. or maybe you are more than just friends.
L. was struggling as well. the guy she is sleeping with gave her some feedback after having sex: ‘you act like a child, why have you blocked me on insta?’, he asked.
‘i dont act like a child’, she defended herself. ‘i am just free. i do what i feel’, she said in his bed.
we should normalise blocking people as a form of self-care, prioritising yourself, i told her.
last Sunday i went to Elmwood baths to see sunset with D. she was really worried for her best friend.
‘she just stays in this blurred line with this douchebag. she trusts too much what he says. but there’s a gap between the way he acts and what he sells’, she said. i have never imagined she could be this naive’, she concluded.
even the smartest ones fall for the wrong ones, i thought.
if we are all jumping from flop to flop, is there any hope to find true love?
how much more can we take with every encounter we fail?
i wonder if we are not just becoming walking broken hearts.
just a bunch of angry emotions. a collection of systemic rejection.
I was in Fenton Farmhouse with A. and L. ‘everybody is waiting for somebody’, A. said.
the way she said it really touched me.
what about you?, they all asked me. ‘oh, I have enough dating life on your behalf’, i said. ‘but stay strong, i need your stories to feed my blog’.
it’s complicated for everyone. too many blurred lines.
we judge a guy buying you a drink in the middle of the night and we normalise receiving dick pics in dating apps.
i guess we can’t chase love. love find us. love happens. unexpectedly. randomly.
to do so, maybe we need to recalibrate some stuff.
from my side, I consent real conversations in the middle night. I consent spontaneous smiles. i prefer this than consenting in dating apps doing tamagotchi every night.
energy flows where intention goes, they say. well, i haven’t put any intention at all. maybe it’s about time.