I was scrolling through my Tinder messages the other day when I found one of those gems of a conversation. You know the type (ladies): a completely one sided conversation between you and someone that started years ago.
I stumbled across one of these conversations the other day. With someone to whom I have never responded. I scrolled up to the top, and there it was: our match date – November, 2014.
Gosh I thought More than three years of not knowing a person. How strange.
I thought about what I was doing and who I was in November 2014. Ah, yes – call me nostalgic, but that’s when I first started hanging out with Gangsta Boo. The juxtaposition of those two “relationships” struck me: after more than three years, I have come to know this person in a deeper way than I ever could have imagined. In many ways, knowing him has helped me to better know myself.
On the other hand, this joker in my Tinder inbox is just another nobody. Another could have been parading around my Saturday morning memories as I paint myself pretty illusions of what would have happened had I responded to this guy instead, and fucked this guy instead, and where would we be today instead.
I clicked on the guy’s Tinder profile. He wasn’t terribly attractive or memorable. I don’t know why I swiped right on him. He looked like the type of person I could forget even if I fucked him a couple of times. Lord knows there are plenty of people I have forgotten by now. I’m sure they have forgotten me, too.
But this guy has been messaging me intermittently for three years to no avail. With no response. That kind of tenacity perplexes me. Clearly, I am not a catfish, but after three years – what keeps him coming back? Is it a numbers game? Three years is a long time to sustain a one sided conversation. What kind of new male psychopathy have these dating apps spawned?
I know I should do the merciful thing and unmatch him. But you know me – I’m a glutton for the spectator sport of other people’s unravelling. How long will I have Tinder. How long will these people continue to message me. Three years seems extreme. What about 10 years? 30 years? I’m inspired by the human desire for sex and love, that it would motivate someone to try and try again in the face of certain failure. I think that’s the text book definition of insanity, but I also find it to be endearing. The human heart is capable of so much emotion that is beyond my own scope of the experience of love.
Play on, players.