Category / Romance

by Edward Champion

Final Texts Sent to Women I’ve Dated in the Past Year: A Tale of Resilience and Emotional Maturity

A story assembled from selected last texts I sent to women that I dated in the last year.

Thank you for the text and for meeting me. While I enjoyed talking with you, I didn’t feel there was much of a connection. Nevertheless, I wish you the best of luck! All best, Ed

* * *

Not defensive at all. I was politely replying to your invitation and you made the leaps. I’m quite happy being who I am.

* * *

It is the best thing for me too. I feel that you are emotionally manipulative, unwilling to be honest and communicative, and deeply unfair. Nevertheless, I wish you the best of luck. Thanks for using me.

* * *

Please stop texting me. I’m not interested. Best of luck.

* * *

Do you even comprehend that men are not playthings for your deranged pleasure?

* * *

Okay, I get the hint. I hope you feel better. Thanks and best of luck.

* * *

Sounds like your life is too complicated. Best of luck.

* * *

Sounds like you’re not all that serious. And I have better things to do than have my chain dragged. Best of luck. And thank you for wasting my time.

* * *

I’m not ripping into anything. You’re doing a grand job of tearing down the house with your eleventh hour “revelations.” And I will call bullshit on people, especially unrelenting types who fire the first shot, who lack the self-awareness and the empathy to consider their own complicity. If you think I’m enjoying this (perhaps you are?), you’re gravely mistaken. But you’ve proven yourself wrong about a lot of things. I think we can both agree that there’s no profit in this exchange. So again I wish you best of luck.

* * *

And, by the way, I’m NOT nice. Your actions made me very angry. Because I once again allowed a self-absorbed woman to use me, to take advantage of my heart, to feign diffidence when she didn’t have the guts to cut her losses and declare the truth of her loneliness and her desperation. Go to hell. All you know how to do is toy with other hearts. And I won’t allow ANYONE to do that to me ever again.

* * *

Alright, one last try (because I like you) and I won’t bother you again. No need to reply back if you don’t want to. You mentioned last night that you were in a somewhat sullen mood because of your architectural comment chided by the martinet-minded boatman, that people felt intimidated by you because of your exuberance, that you rubbed some people the wrong way, that you weren’t accustomed to people treating you nice. I’m not sure if this (or perhaps the shrapnel from the businesslike unraveling of your marriage; believe me, I understand) has any bearing on your skittishness, but please know that I found you profoundly interesting, laden with great life, refreshingly independent-minded, and felt compelled to shower you with some affection that you seemed, in the way in which you shifted closer to me, to covet. You struck me as someone who was a bit surprised to receive kindness and receptive ears. Perhaps you were putting forth some front. I don’t know. What I do know is that you deserve to be treated well. You are an uncommon soul I’d like to know more. I’d be delighted to try again, if you’re ready and willing, taking things as slow as you’d like to go. Whatever you decide, whether with me or someone else, please know that some men do actually want to give to you and listen to you and respect you. As someone who adjusts her mind and body for a six week stint on the high seas in winter, you of all people know that life is always worth the risk and that goes for everything, whether the coos of romance or owning an apartment. In any event, thank you for the delightful evening and I really wish you the best and hope you find everything you’re looking for. – Ed

* * *

Many thanks for the conversation. I would be delighted to hear more about your adventures in Kenya. Good luck with the interview! Thanks, Ed

* * *

The princess’s gleaming eyes glistened with an unanticipated joy as the courtier handed her a parchment dripping with warm words written in a happy careful hand. The knight who had vowed to joust against dragons and play sweet songs for her upon his lute had delivered a letter from a faraway land that stirred some happy memory. She remembered the warmth of his hand, his easy smile, and his rather attentive ways. “Chivalry,” she had said, “is not dead.” A flowing coat shimmering against the frostiest gale was not something to be so readily dismissed. Some natural cannonball shot into the air, an ardor built not on war but on tenderness and that rather exciting quiver that accompanied more important passions.

The courtier had caught sight of a distant horse in the horizon, upon which rode the selfsame knight, who leaped from his steed and, shortly after spinning his sword into the air in the manner of a showman whirling a cane, performed an acrobatic interpretive dance that revealed the fine letters of the alphabet. “X…X…X”

This was quite a good deal of effort for a memory from so long before, certainly not the usual, but she couldn’t help smiling. The courtier opened the large book containing her many appointments and said, “The knight, ma’am. He hopes to schedule a visitation. Is there an opening?” The princess replied…

…well, how shall we continue this story?

* * *

No, you’re not. You’re one of those textbook cases Janet Malcolm wrote about.

* * *

I’d like to thank you for hurting me. It has provided me with a clarity which not only explains why X left you, but will ensure that I never make the same mistake of revealing my soul to a solipsist ever again. Best of luck. You definitely need it.

* * *

Affectionate and complimentary one moment, recoiling the next; goofy theatrical banter one minute, trilingual gymnastics almost as if you had to prove something (you didn’t) the next. You vacillated wildly in mood and I’m not interested in playing head games, whether conscious or subconscious. I’m interested in connecting with someone. Last night, you revealed yourself in ways that suggested very strongly that you could never do that with me, even though there was some part of you that wanted to. I don’t know if some of this is residual from the guy who hurt you. I’m sorry that happened, but I’m not going to be the fall guy. Get this in check. Other men won’t be nearly as patient or as understanding as I’ve been. Take good care of yourself. Truly. Nothing but empathy and good will here. Thanks and all best, Ed

* * *

First off, I’m sorry to hear about your grandmother. Having an ailing grandmother myself, I completely understand. Second, yes, I was the subject of a long, libelous, and predominantly untrue hit piece. I have been nothing less than courteous to you. I can even talk honestly about what really happened, as difficult as it is for me. But the one thing I won’t do is defend myself before someone who chooses to take stock in a distorted clickbait funhouse image of me rather than the very real and good man she met on Thursday night. I am truly sorry that you have opted to see the wrong version and apologize for any unsettling feelings caused by these disgraceful articles. All best, Ed

* * *

No problem. Glad to hear you landed a place! All best with your art and life. Many thanks, Ed

* * *

Thank you for taking the time out to meet last night. You seem nice and thoughtful, but I didn’t feel any romantic sparks. So I shall have to respectfully bow out. Nevertheless, I wish you the best in life and finishing your dissertation! Thanks and all best, Ed

* * *

Okay, I don’t want to add discomfort to an already awkward exchange. So I’m going to bow out of Thursday with all the grace I can muster, apologize for time wasted, and wish you the best. Thanks and supreme apologies, Ed

* * *

Of course we can be friends! I’m very honored that I got to meet you and your gregarious friends, enjoyed our moments, and am tremendously sorry that my heart hasn’t cooperated. For you are a very good soul who deserves nothing less than a marvelous man who will undoubtedly make you feel even more special than I possibly can. Again, my contrition and great gratitude. Please have a magnificent weekend! Thanks and all best, Ed

* * *

Good luck and take care!

* * *

Dear X: I’m very sorry to do this, but I’ve met someone in the last week who I’ve been getting very serious with. I very much enjoyed meeting you, but I’m going to have to cancel Thursday night because of this entirely unanticipated development. But I thank you for your time, hope you had a good holiday, and I wish you the best of luck! Thanks, Ed

by Edward Champion

Some Ruminations on Modern Romance

Don’t let anyone ever tell you that romance is dead, even in our age of smartphones, hookups, and dating apps.

Sometimes it takes only two words, uttered by someone very kind at the right place at the right time, to keep you soaring for days. There is nothing wrong with giving or receiving affection or coveting a loose ledger that is never in need of an audit. It is the gamble we all take as we stumble upon the fine intuitive glue that keeps the heart pumping in a ferociously stable place and that fills the spirit with newfound signposts to paths uncharted and untried. There is always the risk of heartbreak, but it is overshadowed by salacious quips and dancing eyes and exchanged smiles, the discovery of bright lively flora blossoming inside another soul, the enchanting unknowingness of it all.

Once the poker faces of our best selves dissolve over a few glasses of malbec, we learn of forgotten cards buried up our sleeves. The stagecraft is intuitive and vaguely mystical, transcending optical illusion, undetectable by the smartest Broadway crowd. A good pair of magicians understands that they can bring down any house through a shared glance or a sotto voce declaration or the slightest brush of fingers on a windy stage. Good living theater is all about the magic that arrives out of nowhere when no one, not even the featured players, is looking.

In recent years, we’ve abandoned our late night telephone conversations for flirty evocative texts that careen across the 4G matrix well past the midnight hour, circumventing the long established rule of never calling another after ten. But maybe we confine our expressions to words because we crave shared physicality more than ever before, perhaps because it is more easily consummated than at any other time in human history. The phones are parked in our pockets and our purses in the early stages of whatever counts for current courtship, intimating that we are occupying some private shared territory that will never be intruded upon. Dating, like show business, is all about showing up.

We sometimes succumb to cliches, but we can still be surprised by someone else even when we are exhausted. This is the magic and the fluidity of romance. The jittery excitement of meeting someone new or deepening something that seems to be tottering happily along a thrilling edge can turn a seemingly collected and rational mind into a visceral thunderball, prone to wild whims and daring moves that were never staked out on the syllabus.

It becomes easier to listen and glisten and kiss and even miss out. It becomes easier to be courteous even when the date is disastrous. It becomes easier to be honest about whatever it is you truly want. The only requirements for enjoying yourself amid a series of pleasures and mishaps are curiosity and a zest for life. And when someone emerges from the ever rotating throng who is gentle with your ventricles and willing to accept your totality, it can shoot you across the moon in ways that no cosmonaut can mimic.

It will never go the same way. This is the first thing you learn. You are more of a catch than you know. This is the second thing you learn. But there are more important lessons following these obvious revelations.

We learn of our resilience. We learn how many chances we give to other souls. We learn, even the skeptics and the bitter cynics among us, that we allow more idealism in our lives than we are willing to acknowledge. We even learn somehow to be comfortably alone during the breaks. There are patterns, but there are also deviations.

It does not matter how many there are. Equations are meaningless in this journey. There is no need to scribble gibberish upon the theoretical chalkboard of your mind. Some grand soul will emerge, even if for a brief time, if you have the courage and fortitude to go the distance.