I received your letter dated April 24. It’s taken me a little while to get back to you, and I apologize. I have to admit, I wasn’t really sure how or whether to respond to you. Now that I’ve had a little time to think things over, I’ve decided that it’s probably best that you hear from me directly.
Don’t get me wrong. I do appreciate your attempt to explain your absence from my love life. I just don’t think your approach is terribly effective. You’ve essentially presented me with some flowery language and a litany of excuses that relies a great deal on dating other people. I’m not sure why you thought I’d be happy to hear that you can’t date me because you’re so busy dating other women, but in the end, I’m not sure that matters.
I am not reassured by the knowledge that you do exist, but that you feel it’s appropriate to refer to me, a complete stranger, with such familiarity. We do not know each other, in large part because of your own confessed behavior. And no matter how certain you are that — at some undefined point in the future — we will be together, I am not at present your love or your ‘darling heart’ or anything else. (You’ll observe that I referred to you as ‘sir.’)
I am also not reassured by the knowledge that you have seen me on several occasions and perhaps spoken to me long enough to get my number but then failed to follow up. I am not inspired by your confirmation that I have been right in front of you but have not met you because you couldn’t or wouldn’t make that happen. I have not had kind words for any of the men who asked for my number with no intention of using it. And I am not convinced by your blithe presumption that I wouldn’t like you all that much, since you concede that you and I do not actually know each other. (By the way, I’m not sure who the woman on Tinder was. I’m not on Tinder. Nothing I hear about Tinder makes me want to be on Tinder.)
Finally, I do not feel liberated by your assurance that I should ‘keep making … life exciting and full’ while you continue to date other people, focus on your own needs, and cling to relationships you yourself identify as wrong for you. See, I have been living my life. It’s already pretty exciting, although I confess that it’s sometimes far from easy. I’ve managed to achieve some pretty impressive things, and I’m living the life I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl.
You seem to suggest that you cannot be part of my life because of obstacles like mistaking drama for love and needing life to kick your ass. That’s fine. You should take all the time you need to deal with your various issues, ‘find yourself,’ and generally summon the courage to approach me or call me or whatever. Just understand that I am not waiting for you.
The life of my dreams demands a great deal of my time and attention. I’m coming home from a long day of work to a long night of work. I love that. After years of wrong turns and lost time, I’m an author now. I wish you’d been here for some of it. It’s been a thrill a minute, and my author colleagues have been curious about you and more charitable toward you than I have been. In fairness, I never asked for you to be perfect. I just wanted you to show up. I’m sorry you didn’t get that message in time.
Unfortunately, you’ve been ‘intentionally keeping [your] head too busy,’ and I’m sorry to say that you may have lost your chance to be with me, the woman you so casually refer to as the future love of your life. If you are as sincere as your other readers believe you are, this is probably somewhat disappointing news, but this situation could have been avoided if you had used my number or spoken to me on the bus or in line at the post office or wherever you’re saying you were.
All is not lost. Should you come to the realization that you can be present in my life, you’re welcome to try to find me. Sure, the ship has sailed, but you can still swim out to meet it.
Until then, though, I suggest you lay off the phony endearments. I didn’t care for them coming from my exes, and again, you and I do not know each other.
Good luck, and please send my best to the ‘wrong’ women.