For whatever reason, “men” can clam up at any arbitrary time without warning. Just shut down, close up shop and disappear from your life faster than they entered it–and you. There’s no telling why they feel it’s best and appropriate to simply cut off all communication. Maybe some aspect of it comes from an empathetic place. Or maybe, rather, a place of fear–fear of having to deal with what he interprets as a woman’s river of emotional shit. Because the only thing a “man” hates more than leaving his mother’s womb is dealing with emotions. Particularly when all he wants now is a new orifice with which to interact with. I’m talking, of course, about the opening that is made when he forms his hand into a slight fist to masturbate.
But where does that leave the woman who needs to know what went wrong? The exact moment when he started to formulate the exit strategy. Was it all her, or is something about her merely a reflection of his own lost soul, refracted momentarily in the folds of her vag until he smoothes everything out for himself? It would just be really fucking amazing to know, to hear something. To not have the title of the crucial Judy Blume novel Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. apply to your existential crisis in relationships as well. With a title instead revamped to: Are You There Fuckhead? It’s Me, The Girl You Ghosted. So try to bear in mind that your silence, while presumed to be pacifistic, is actually violence–and that a few kind words geared toward a phase out might just preserve a little longer someone you boned’s self-esteem.