We swap memes and late voice notes. Nobody asks what this is. The talking stage is just two people auditioning without agreeing the job exists.
Tag: commitment
If you want sex, say sex. If you want me, say that. Lets see where it goes is a man keeping the exit door oiled.
He replies just enough to keep me warm. Never enough to make a plan. Benching is the new ghosting with better manners and worse timing.
Vulnerability is treated like an ick now. I joke instead. Then I want to say it in daylight and my mouth does that stupid freeze.
It was good. Too good, maybe. Next day he talks about timing and work stress. I know a retreat when I am watching one clearly.
I can do no-strings. I am genuinely good at it. Then someone makes tea properly and I invent a whole future they never once offered.
Drinks, sex, a vague plan that never lands on a calendar. I am done collecting almosts. Book a table or do not get me tonight.
Not in bed. In the head. They want the filthy girl until she asks what Saturday looks like. That is when they need space first.
It is a man who liked attention, not the Tuesday. Stop dressing it as complexity. If he cannot say what this is, it is nothing.
A wrist in his story is not commitment. It is cover. If I am good enough for his bed I am good enough for face.