Dear Person I Didn’t Ghost (But I Sort of Did),
Heyy. I’m using two y’s to come across as more playful and less serious, but obviously I’m less serious if it took me six weeks to respond to your last message where you told me you were lying on your parents’ couch waiting to go to a concert. How was the couch? How was the concert?
It’s been a while. I know I sort of dropped off the face of the earth. (I don’t know why I’m saying “sort of” when I “kind of” did, and again, by “kind of,” I definitely did. But I want to downplay the seriousness of my lack of my communication. It really doesn’t mean anything except... well, we’ll get there.)
I would say I “ghosted,” but that would be dramatic, don’t you think? Also here I am now. I obviously didn’t ghost. I just took my sweet time. All six weeks of it.
I would argue I didn’t ghost because your last message wasn’t a question. I didn’t have to respond. (I mean, obviously because I didn’t.) If you had asked a question, I’m certain I would have replied. In a way, this is your fault. You left our conversation in this ambiguous place, and it was on me to continue the conversation, and I just wasn’t in an emotionally or verbally healthy place to sustain that pressure. So I decided to take some time with myself, go on dates with a few other people, revisit the idea of getting back together with my most toxic ex, and also do some personal travel.
Is that all I’ve been up to? I know you haven’t asked, but you’ve got to be wondering. What in Gabriel’s name happened in these six weeks that I couldn’t at least thumbs up you lying on your parents’ couch waiting for that concert?
In fact, you’re probably most interested in what happened in the last two to five business days that has led me to reappear in your life. Unless I’ve been in the jungles of Africa and just forgot to mention that on our last date. Surprise, I’m back now. Africa was great.
Just kidding. In the last five business days, I decided to get my life together. Though reaching out to you challenges that assertion. I possibly don’t have my life together if I’ve decided to revisit our dalliance and terrorize you with romance again. Possible romance, of course. Only if you’re receptive. I am hoping you’ll respond to this six week late message, of course.
How and why did I even remember you? Before we ever met the first time, I stalked you on Instagram. I know—I myself forgot. But there I was two days ago, lying on my own couch, stalking someone else, and Instagram auto-populated your name. I thought to myself, “Oh, who’s that? Oh, her. Oh, I wonder what she’s up to you. Did I ever respond to her text? Wasn’t she going to some concert? Maybe I’ll reach out.”
I swear I’m not a fuckboi. I know signs point that way, and I almost wish I was because then I’d have a better grasp on what I’m doing reaching out to you... but I’m not. I don’t think at least. Maybe I am? But maybe you want that? Wouldn’t that make it easier? We can meet up with the full knowledge that this is fleeting, we get a drink, do some business, and maybe I hit you up again in another three months? I’ll probably use a similar script to this.
How have you been? Really, I want to know. Remind me, what do you do again? How is work? Where did you travel with your parents? How many siblings do you have? I know you’ve told me these things, but it’s been six weeks. If you decide to reply to this message, please drop some clues. Drinks will be awkward if we have to rehash old territory.
For your sake, I’ll remind you I’m from a beach town, my parents are still married, my mom teaches Sunday school, and my dad could retire, but he won’t. I know, I’m not the typical fuckboi suspect; I told you. I have some high-paying job that I don’t think I ever fully disclosed, though you told me a lot about yours. Nonprofit work, right? I just moved here. Sort of. A year ago. But that’s why you should give me some slack. I’m still figuring it out.
Why am I still talking? We could have this conversation over those drinks. That is why I’m reaching out. It’s been a long time, I won’t even add “no talk,” so if you’re still interested - and you were six weeks ago, remember? - I’d love to grab drinks this week. Tonight? You’re right, that’s too soon. There’s no guarantee I’ll even reply if you respond to this message. Maybe I’ll vanish again. It’s a lot of pressure. But then you should double text. I promise to respond to double texts out of guilt. Maybe if you had double texted six weeks ago. Really, I mean it. I’ll respond then.
I really do hope you respond to this message. Not because I’m already imagining our wedding with romantic toasts that describe the time I disappeared for six weeks or longer (ha ha, amirite?) - that would be way too much, right? Honestly one of the reasons I kind of ghosted; I didn’t want to pressure either of us with those ideas. But mostly I need validation right now. My last couple of flings didn’t pan out like I hoped, and I still see some potential in ours. Don’t you? “Emotionally unavailable,” “confused” man returns to “patient,” “empathetic” heroine. The plot of any Hollywood romance, we could be that couple. For a spell.
I think we should just get drinks, ideally near one of our apartments. We’ve already vetted that neither of us is sociopathic (questionably). I can lead the conversation (this time) by asking what shows you’re watching and then suggest we watch that back at your place. Fine, mine. I think if we wait for the next date to do that, then you might never hear from me again. You wouldn’t want that to happen. Right?
So, what do you say? I’m willing to wait while you think about it (read: think about me), even up to a week. Just not six weeks. We shouldn’t play games.
I’ll even pay for drinks this next date. I owe that to you. I think I paid last time, so you know I’m a gentleman.
And if it’s no, all I ask is that you say that. Send a text. Just a few words. We owe each other that at least. If I could make my way out of the woodwork after a month and a half, I hope you can find the time to reply to me.
Dear Person I Didn’t Ghost (But I Sort of Did),