To the guy who blew me off last Friday:
Hi. I hope your Friday was a blast. After not seeing you for months, I called you the other day to hang out because I wanted to catch up. It’s been a while.
I wanted to share my summer adventures in Europe with you and talk about each other’s newest endeavors and latest dreams. I was hoping that after all this time, you grew up a bit too, and I was excited to hear about the new changes in your life. But alas, I spoke too soon and dreamt too fast, as you still seem to be your unchanged, egotistical self. You are still in the same awful band, smoke pot all day and have that charming habit of being an immature, borderline sadist, sociopathic jerk.
I used to have this strange obsession with wanting to turn a bad boy good. You — infamously negligent — with all your obscure tattoos and your unwashed hair, were my never ending project that I just had to perfect. A rejection from you was a cue to try harder. A text gone unanswered was my sick idea of foreplay.
When you flirted with other girls in front of me, I was devastated but oddly turned on. The more you pushed me out, the more I made myself tear through the door and climb back in. I wanted redemption. I needed peace of mind.
This time, however, the cryptic message that you sent me, canceling plans last minute, made me cringe but nothing else. True, my pride was momentarily bruised, but after I wallowed in self-pity for a minute, I resumed my Friday night with a revelatory sense of clarity.
My masochistic attraction to toxic people — which I was convinced was a chronic disease — seems to be eroding away. I realized the cage — the one you took me to with your hands so deceptively interlaced in mine — that I thought I was stuck in has no lock. All I had to do was get up and walk out.
I’m writing to give you an apology. I am sorry for perpetuating this cycle of douchebaggery with my compliance. I take full and complete responsibility for using you to work through my own immaturity and insecurities. I hope that you can forgive me for making you think that disrespecting women is okay when it’s actually quite repulsive. I apologize for rewarding your immaturity with kisses. I really should have smacked you in the face instead of giving you that unwarranted boost of confidence. I’m sorry for making you the way you are, because now you don’t seem to know how to be anything else.
As I shed my final layer of teen angst, my self-esteem no longer needs you. And as I grow older and my self-worth gets stronger, my schedule busier and my dreams bigger, my patience is inversely becoming much shorter. And as you grow older but persist in being the guy who feels empowered by making women feel fractured, your decision to remain a scumbag is dull and embarrassingly stagnant.
I know that upon reading this letter, you will probably get a couple more sloppy lays with some intoxicated freshman who is still binging on her first breath of freedom. But I’m telling you, in a quick couple of years, your complete lack of substance will bore people. That unruly look of yours will cease to be seductive and will only raise questions regarding hygiene. The nice friends of yours — you know, the ones who are doing stuff besides unbuttoning said 18-year-old girls’ pants, like getting a job and reading Tolstoy — are going to leave you crying in the dust as they sprint triumphantly towards the finish line.
In the same way that I would never want you to trade in your motorcycle jacket for a business suit, I don’t expect you to completely change your ways. Keep your rugged confidence and your lightheartedness, and keep taking those risks in bed, because these are the qualities that I will forever love about you.
But in this day and age, I need more than just your silly humor and your pretentious music taste. I need someone who can motivate me, get me excited about life, is driven and is considerate of my personal goals and dreams. I don’t expect you to have a meticulously laid out plan detailing every aspect of your future — because that is impossible and boring — but I want you to have interests and passions beyond partying and getting laid.
Regardless of how long, short, romantic, nonmonogamous or fleeting our relationship may be, I want us to leave each other not only physically satiated but also intellectually and creatively stimulated.
I’m here to tell you that you need a wake up call. And I know that college is a breeding spot for Peter Pans, but Wendy is growing up fast, and she is getting tired of your childish ways.