If You Cannot Say It Do Not

Hinting is not mystery.

It is cowardice with better lighting. I would rather a blunt no than a man performing confusion all week long here.

I mean that. I am not trying to sound hard. I am tired. There is a difference.

Give me the clean version. I liked it. I did not. I want Thursday. I wanted the night and that is all. I can work with any of those. What I cannot work with is a man who keeps the door half open so he still looks kind.

The week of fog

It starts well. It always starts well. He is funny. He looks at my mouth when I talk. He walks me to the stop like that means something. I go home, dump my heels, tell the mirror it was good, and then I wait for a sentence that does not arrive.

What arrives is worse. A reaction on a story. A you up that does not turn into a plan. A sorry work has been insane from a person who still has time to exist online. I am not stupid. I work. I know what busy looks like. Busy still sends a day. Fog sends a vibe.

By Wednesday I am doing the embarrassing bit. Not crying. Translating. I reread the last message like it might grow a spine. I ask a flatmate if I am being mad. She says no and also stop looking. Both can be true.

That is the performance. He never has to reject me. I get to sit in my room writing meaning onto a grey tick.

People on their phones are not confused. They are comfortable

I have watched this enough times now. The confused ones still manage to book a haircut. They still manage to go out. They still manage to text their mates a paragraph. The confusion is very selective. It only appears when a woman needs a straight answer.

Call it breadcrumbing if you want the internet word. I call it keeping a light on in case the other option goes cold. You stay warm enough that I do not delete him. He stays free enough that nothing is required. Everybody gets something except a Saturday that actually exists.

A no would take twenty seconds and a bit of backbone. The hint takes a week of my head. Guess who is doing the labour.

I can hear the defence already

He does not want to hurt me. He is figuring it out. He hates labels. He thought I only wanted casual so he kept it light.

Fine. Then say that.

I like casual. I like filthy and done by morning if that is the deal. I also like dinner and a person who does not vanish when the sun comes up. What I do not like is being given the soft version of both and told I should be grateful he is nice about it.

Nice without clarity is just delay. Delay is not care. Delay is him using my patience as a holding pen.

I have been the delayed one. I have also been the one who delayed. I will not dress either up as depth. If I cannot say I am not choosing you, I should stop kissing you like I might.

Work does not let me hint. Dating used to

On the floor I say the thing. The delivery is late. That pallet is wrong. I want the extra responsibility, please take me seriously. Nobody at work gets to call that intense. They call it doing the job.

Then I put makeup on, walk into a dark room, and suddenly I am allergic to verbs. I laugh. I make it easy. I leave first so I never have to hear where I stand. That used to feel like power. It was mostly fear in a decent coat.

Quiet men still rattle me. Kind ones scare me more than the loud lads. I know why. I still want someone who stays. I still say I do not do boyfriends like that will protect me from wanting one. Hinting lets me hide in the same way it lets them hide. I am trying to stop giving myself that cover.

Ask once. Then believe the answer you actually got

I do not do the long paragraph anymore. Not if I can help it. The long paragraph is how you hand him a speech he can ignore and still look chased.

I ask one clean thing. Was that a one off or are we doing this again. I am fine either way. I am not fine with the weather report.

If he names a day, good. If he says it was just that night, also good. I will live. I have lived through worse than a man being honest. If he says he does not know and then keeps touching me like he does, that is the no. He wants the benefits of a yes without the sentence.

Believe the pattern, not the compliment. The compliment is cheap. The pattern costs you sleep.

A blunt no is not cruelty

Cruelty is letting someone build a little life in the gap.

I would rather hear I am not interested. I would rather hear I liked sleeping with you and I do not want more. I would rather hear I thought I would and then I did not. All of that is survivable. You go out. You put the face back on. You take the night bus home and you are allowed to feel gutted for one evening without turning it into a hobby.

What is not survivable in a normal week is the half kiss of a maybe. It gets in your rota. It gets in your makeup. It gets in the way of the next person who might actually say Thursday and mean Thursday.

I do not need him to be brave in a film way. I need him to finish a thought.