Monday, March 5, 2012

The Letters I've Never Sent...Mr. Verbal Minimalist


Dear Mr. Verbal Minimalist,

Alas, the time has come to address a growing concern of mine that I find simple yet complex for I can’t say how you’ll react. Quite frankly, I’m not sure you’ll be able to say how you’ll react either. But nevertheless, I’ll give it a shot.

A woman who speaks her mind is not all that hard to find, but when she takes the time to decipher your mind, now that is something else entirely. She is patient, though she’s brewing a hesitation for your resistance to speak freely. Do I have permission to speak freely?

I mean really, is it easier to pretend you’re interesting, better yet, intriguing, because the fascade is you’re some sort of mystery? To me it’s almost outright creepy. Step outside your comfort zone and maybe more people will find you comforting. Good listeners are only good if they take the time to reflect and respond to whatever they’ve heard, but when you’re only hearing words, or verbal exchanges that sound like words but you can’t really tell either way, it suddenly goes from good, to pretty terrible—food for thought.

But that’s not even what I’ve been meaning to tell you. My intent is really to inform you, educate, and perhaps enlighten you. I’m losing all that patience you constantly tell me I have. And what is more, I’m glad, so glad that I don’t have to deal with all of this complicated mess that is at the very least, your emotions. I mean I thought I was emotional—really, really emotional. But you have far exceeded my expectations of a man feeling his feelings and expressing them. That’s the other point I wanted to make.

I get the ‘woe is me act,’ and I get the “I’m not sure what to say” predicament. But if you’re not sure what to say, and you know you’ve got the ‘woe is me’ act down pact, why not try and refrain from the wrist-slitting commentary you do occasionally provide when I pry, and I pry, and I pry. My ears are bleeding from our painful verbal exchanges, when it would be much simpler to make a break for it…For both of us.

We’re passed the small talk and well beyond the exchange of pleasantries (which by the way you’ve never really shared), so let’s stop here. Let’s move beyond this, and beyond the two us because really, there’s no coming back from this. I’ve reached the point of being irked at the sight of your name in my inbox, and if I actually had time to stop and delete your number, or didn’t have to worry about you randomly calling and roping me all the way back in, I’d have cut the cord a long time ago. But you keep popping up again.

What ever happened to fun? I mean actual, simple fun that happens in the now, and doesn’t go much further than that. Women have the ‘what if’ debate down cold—we don’t need men entering that realm too. We may think we do, but no, we don’t. That’s our role.

I’m not angry, nor am I trying to upset you. Apologies, if that’s all that I do. You deserve someone that’s truly interested in your drama, and someone who doesn’t care that you’re just a bit more melodramatic than they are. Because let’s face, you are more melodramatic than many. Your silence is beyond awkward, and the minimal conversation you are capable of has the potential to be great, but you haven’t reached that level yet. Hopefully some day you will though. I’ll pray for you.

With that I’ll take my leave, and hope that you’re not plotting against me. This was all meant to advise, critique and assist you. I hope you’ll see it that way.

Farewell for now,


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