“Too intense”

 I deleted the apps--too many people looking to be saved from their own company and spreading risk. I lived alone and buried myself in work.

C reached out in July. A former Tinder contact, but we'd never met because I'd cancelled at the time. Too burnt out and I wasn't looking forward to it, so best to focus on myself. But in July the days were long again and I became excited to receive his messages.

We met in Vicky park near the water fountain at sunset. Chatted on a bench for a bit and then moved to a nearby pub garden. We broke the distance with a parting hug. He was also on his own and missed hugs. 

A weekday trip to a deserted Barbican where we laughed piecing together the story of a series of panel images at a near-empty exhibit, followed by venison on an eat-out-to-help-out deal. We spoke about being cheated on and he said we've broken the rule about not speaking about exes on early dates. I said there are no rules. He told me I was easy to talk to.

I visited him in Greenwich and he showed me the Painted Hall. I told him I liked his 'tour guide' voice when he got excited about telling me some piece of history. An actual tour guide told us off for being too loud and upstaging his distanced tour. We watched a film on his projector and he kissed me on the awkward wicker couch in his flatshare room.

He came round mine and I made Thai Curry. He read a script I'd written and told me it was good and maybe we should collaborate. I read a script he'd written and told him it was professional and gave him some notes over brunch the next day on a lazy bank holiday Monday morning. 

He didn't text after that first night together. Everything felt heightened and I couldn't tell if it was the isolation or my anxiety or an accurate reading of his losing interest. Likely a combination, as is often the case in life. When he did get in contact later in the week I tried to tell him I felt he'd gone a bit cold and if that wasn't his intention to be aware that was how he was coming across. He said it wasn't. We spoke on the phone and he told me it's just that he's British. The height of emotional openness and care is to offer a cup of tea.

We made plans for another Sunday in Greenwich. An exhibit of astronomy photography I'd suggested. He liked astronomy and had shown me beautiful photos he'd taken of the moon. I didn't tell him this, but I thought it: my cheesiest single ritual is to watch the moon and wonder where my person is in that moment, whoever it is that isn't with me now but is on their way. 

Saturday night I texted to ask what time he wanted me to book tickets to the exhibit. One tick on Whatsapp. When I woke up on Sunday morning, still just one tick. I started to wonder if I'd been ghosted. He was on Instagram so I messaged there saying I couldn't get through but hoped he was alright. I tried ringing after 12, but no answer. I went to the train station, determined to go on my own as planned and salvage my day.

He messaged while I was at Liverpool Station. His phone had died yesterday, he said. He'd planned to get in touch in the afternoon. But it takes me an hour to get to Greenwhich and the last entry was for 3.30. I said it wasn't very respectful of my time in planning my day or very conscientious communication. He apologised and met me for the last entry. We walked to the top of the park where there's still a city view but fewer people than by the observatory and lay down in the grass, my head tucked in his shoulder. My idea of a perfect moment. I told him he felt very comfortable to be with. He said the same.

After that he got more distant still. I asked him if he wanted to write something together and he said he had too much on. No plans to meet up and I felt I couldn't keep suggesting things. He said he was busy. Work, which used to be only about two hours of his day, was busy and stressful. I gave him space. Friday he texted to ask if I was free Monday. I said yes. Monday came around and he did not get in touch. Around midday I again texted to ask if we were still on. Not sure, he wrote. I again said I don't feel this. He said I respond too intensely to things he says and it doesn't feel right. He's stressed and depressed. I say we don't communicate in the same way and it seems we're not compatible. He agreed and said he feels with the rising cases he can't date anyone right now. I said there's no need to blame the virus. He said it wasn't an excuse. But he must know I know the virus doesn't transmit down phone lines or preclude staying friends or working together. I wished him well and encouraged him to get help for his depression.

It was short. It was the right outcome. But it felt intense nonetheless. That Monday I met my only local friend in a beer garden and he tried to convince me I did everything right. He just lost interest. It feels like a shift for me. Usually I would try to convince someone to be with me, to treat me well. This time I tried to communicate what I felt and walked away when I didn't feel heard or seen. But I know I can be intense and I worry I won't find someone patient or understanding of me. I'm not good at playing the game. These short nothings still punch me in the gut every time.

Rules about households not mixing are coming back. As a household of one this is difficult to face for another indeterminate, possibly longer time. Though it will always be better to be alone than in the wrong relationship, I'm worried about a winter of isolation, going back to how things were in March and April. At that time it was the lengthening days, sunshine, and my walks around Walthamstow Marshes that saw me through and now the days are getting short and cold. I do see the moon more in winter, though. The longer nights somehow make it more visible. And I'll still look at it and wonder if someone is out there for me, also seeing how beautiful this is.