She’s Not Going To Text You Back (And That’s Alright)

Maybe you guys connected last night following the consumption of a few conversationally lubricating, romantic, passion-inducing drinks. Maybe you went back to her place, maybe you made a night of it by throwing each other against what had to have been most of the walls her humble abode had to offer. Tearing each others clothes off like you were doing each other a service, and said service carried with it all the importance of the world’s well-being. But in that moment, it did, didn’t it?

You wanted to connect with each other, learn all you could about that bare and exposed body looking back at you, shed that feeling of loneliness you might otherwise be chivied with while you pass through your weekdays alone and single, but it’s just ‘cause you’re independent, right? You want to be alone, right? You’re just not cut out for the relationship lifestyle, right? But those late night playdates where, sure, you might converse in between the fun stuff that feels good, they’re insurmountable in their fantasticality, right? How can something that is so satisfying and instinctually rewarding — no, really it feels good down to your very bones — not be the pinnacle of what defines a solid night of no-strings-attached sex?

Because it could be better, that’s why. You could get to know each other outside of the bedroom; you could ask her how her day was. Hell, you could go as far as to ask what she’s studying, and why she might be studying that particular field. You could trace the soft and suggestive curvature of her bare right shoulder while she told you why it was she hadn’t taken time off from work and school to leave the states for just once and travel the world. The whole world. There could be a world in your interaction.

But then you’d be vulnerable, wouldn’t you? You’d be fearful that she might not be satisfied with what you have to offer as an individual; I mean, hell, what if you’re boring to her? What if she likes mystery, and that’s the whole reason this whole thing, whatever this thing is, worked in the first place? Then you’d be utterly, and desperately alone yet again, wouldn’t you? Then you’d text her, possibly innocently at first with no solidified, concrete aims, but this text will go unreplied to, and then your interest and underlying concerns would be piqued, wouldn’t they?

Should I not have told her what my ideal day would be?, you’ll think. Should I not have told her it was confusing how someone could be both beautiful and possess such emotional depth intertwined with an intellectual capacity that’d shame this year’s college graduates who’ve supposedly attained their higher educations left me at a loss for words?

Shoulda, coulda, woulda, champ. Sure: maybe you praised her too much, maybe she looked into your eyes the last time you spoke and saw a man that’d commit on the spot to something she just wasn’t looking for at such a transient period in her life. Maybe all she ever wanted was a body to fuck, occasionally exchange words with, and eventually fall asleep with only to awaken the next morning before you saw that beautiful morning face that hadn’t been touched with the slightest trace of make-up just yet. Make-up’s great and all, and can work wonders for making beautiful women look even more beautiful. But if we’re being honest, it’s when that makeup is no more and it’s just you and that untouched face first thing in the morning — what could be more beautiful?

The thing is, she’s not going to text you back. You can obsessively check that phone until it’s battery dies, re-charge it, then repeat the process and there’ll still be no text. You can sit there, jaw clenched, brow furrowed, distraught over what could’ve been if you’d just kept your damn mouth shut, but I’m telling you, don’t. Let it go, remember how it was that you met her in the first place. You were alive, endowed with a childlike energy and sexual curiosity. All you cared about was taking that beautiful, ravishing face home for the night. You didn’t give a shit about how that night and its following days might pan out, because you knew one thing if you knew anything at all: You were gonna have one hell of a good time. And, you did didn’t you? You had a ball didn’t you? Probably spent the next day all smiles, and sheepish grins to your friend’s utter irritation.

Remember that feeling, call it back, lift yourself out of this temporary lapse of a craving you have for something more than a physically gratifying, emotionally disconnected one night stand because champ, the truth is there are so many people out there. So many damned marvelously resplendent people — both inside and out, sometimes you’ll find a gal who’s as alacritous as she is aesthetically appealing — that’ll be around ‘til this little planet we call home is no more, and there’s no reason to dash on into something just because they’re the first person to text you back. No, what you need when you open the gateway to your very inner soul is someone to laugh, love, learn, and live with — not just text.

For now, rest easy with what you have going, and get rid of that number your asinine self felt compelled to text after a particularly amatory filled night, ‘cause you’re single, you’re independent, and you’ll be alright.