When Does It End?

At this point it is beginning to get comical, how cyclic my dating life (or lack there of) has become. We match, we text, we meet up for drinks, maybe we fuck, and then the rest is history. No, we don’t date. No, we don’t end up happily ever after. I mean we never speak again.

I mean we meet up, we talk, sometimes we kiss, I go home with him, and then we never talk again. He doesn’t pick up the phone and call me. He doesn’t ask me to grab drinks again. I never hear from him. He might as well never have existed on planet earth ever to begin with. I hold all of these stories of people within me that I never speak to anymore, things that no one else knows about them, and I have no idea what to do with all this information. What do I do with all these useless facts about random men that I have had encounters with? At this point they aren’t even considered dates, more so encounters that follow the same exact blueprint and result in the same outcome: Nothing.

So here I am again in my favorite coffee shop, angrily typing away at my keyboard and asking myself: When does it end? When do I find someone that reciprocates my energy? When do I stop waking up to nothing? Talking to no one? The whispers of my heart are deep and dark and angry.

Maybe it’s because this time was so unexpected. Maybe it’s because this time I thought that things would be different. I ignored his messages beforehand, after multiple requests to see me, I finally agree. I drive to a bar near his small town beneath out the outskirts of Austin. There is a band playing, there are people dancing, and the drinks are flowing. The entire location of this encounter romanticized the occasion even more so.

The funny thing is, it wasn’t even going that well at first. We were awkward, scrambling to find the right words and form sentences. The music was too loud, the drinks weren’t strong enough, and the conversation was subpar. It was not until I brought up Taylor Hawkins (the drummer that just died from the FooFighters) and Chris Cornell that the conversation took a turn. I noticed a sparkle in his eye, I noticed that he had nice teeth, I noticed the way he looked at me, and I noticed his lips. In the dim light I noticed everything about him.

At one point, grabbing his face and kissing him mid sentence because I could no longer contain myself. The way we kissed was electric. It was like our mouths were made for each other, like his lips were perfectly designed to interlock with mine. I have had so many mediocre experiences with kissing and men in general that this kiss literally captivated my entire being. Finally, after three years of shitty ass kissing and subpar sex something meaningful. Or so I thought.

It’s the kiss that I can’t get over. It’s the way he talked so casually about his life. It’s the music he showed me. It’s the fact that he paid for all three of my drinks only to never talk to me or see me again. Everything about this stupid fucking date was so perfect and yet, here I am again.