Dear My Future “Whatevers,”
Hey there, it’s me, Beth.
I don’t know if our relationship will ever extend beyond texting or if you talk to me just to hold onto the hope of sleeping with me. We may get married, or our first date might make us want to run for the hills. You might meet my parents, or maybe we’ll make out once at the bar and then awkwardly smile at each other on campus the next day. You might ask for my number but never text me, despite my desperate attempts to talk to you. Maybe we’ll fall in love or maybe we’ll fall back into the title of complete strangers. I’m not sure what you’ll be to me, but I want you to read this anyways.
I bet we aren’t each other’s firsts, and we probably won’t be each other’s lasts. We’ve probably already experienced our first kiss, first love, first heartbreak, first everything. You’ve probably slept with a handful of women, and I myself have done the same with men. You won’t be the first guy I’ve cried over, and you certainly won’t be the last. You aren’t my first love, and there has been other guys before you that have changed the way I view a relationship. My emotions aren’t as innocent and raw as they once were. Life has changed me and it has changed how I am going to look at you.
If you are reading this at the very beginning of our “whatever” relationship, you are just another guy to me. If you treated me like a piece of meat, I’m not interested, no matter how many late night texts you send me. If we have been talking for a few months and then you ignore me at the bar to talk to some other girl, I’m not wasting my time on you. Maybe I’m jealous, but I’m not heartbroken. You aren’t the first guy to play with my emotions. You may think you are the Seneca Crane or Plutarch Heavensbee in this “whatever” relationship (for my fellow Hunger Games lovers), but I’ve seen it all before. I’m not naive and I’m not going to expect that anything will come of this until something does actually come of it.
Don’t call me crazy because I question what this “whatever” relationship is after months of talking, I’m not expecting a ring on my finger, and to be honest I don’t care what you label this as. But, I do care how you label me. I can be the girl you are “talking to,” or “hooking up with.” However, I’m not some “dumb broad,” or some “random bitch,” and if I am, please have the decency to tell me.
Don’t text me every single day of the week if I’m just another girl to you. Don’t take me out to dinner, don’t tell me you like me, don’t hold my hand.
Don’t pull me in the trap of falling for you and then freak out when I actually do.
The dating culture of the 21st century has evolved into one giant twisted and f*cked up game, and we all willingly play along. If I like you, I’m going to tell you. But, don’t flatter yourself just yet, that doesn’t always mean I’m looking to be your girlfriend. I’m not expecting a marriage contract or flowers at my doorstep. “Like” doesn’t always translate to a lifetime of holy matrimony. It doesn’t mean I’m head over heels for you or you’re the person I want to have my babies with. So, relax.
I like the kind of person you are and I like being around you. That’s all.
You can call me “crazy” for developing feelings, but I could say the same to you for being petrified of a relationship that was never even established in the first place. You aren’t looking for a commitment, but when did I say I was?
You aren’t my first guy. And you might not be last. Don’t waste my time. Don’t string me along for your own entertainment but also don’t assume I’m looking for a committed relationship until I tell you that I am.
Our “whatever” break-up might sting for a little bit, but you won’t break me. Life moves on, and so will I.
You are just another guy.
I look forward to whatever we may or may not be. And if this letter freaks you out, then we were never meant to be in the first place.