I
Back you go to your phone. It
always happens like this:
that first flush bout of open-endedness –
new resolve, app reinstalled, immediate
assessment of face after face after face
after face. Precious buoyancy before
this whole thing deflates around you
like a bouncy castle with a puncture.
Again.
Maybe this one with the blonde crop
and the nose ring. Or the girl in the
Hawaiian shirt, sitting like a young
Marlon Brando. Or the one with a
bob whose photos are indiscernible
enough to have potential. Or the
singer who’s a bit too divine-feminine
-nature-lover-wanderlust-and-yoga
for your usual tastes, but could still
prove surprising. Or the illustrator
with her dog – no, she’s already in
an open relationship. Long-distance.
Wants something casual. You are
suddenly envious – wish you too
could miss one steadfast body
already, actively search for more.
II
A brief précis of bios while you scroll
before bed: emoji-peppered/ cryptic/ nothing/
love of gin/ nothing/ cats/ insta: [..]/ poly/
something self-deprecating/ personal quirk
that’s not too ‘quirky’/ nothing/ nothing/ joke
stolen from someone else/ “actually 19 NOT
25”/ vegan/ job description/ down to hang/
nothing/ bookish/ happy couple up for
exploring/ 420 friendly/ American girl in
London/ vegan/ nothing/ new to this/ Disney
fanatic/ “looking to…”/ looking for…”/ “Just
looking…….”/ nothing/ nothing/ nothing
III
You do not like what it makes you.
Then again, maybe there’s something
nakedly honest in it, this endless
pageant of options and decisions
to consider in passing. (Well, not
quite endless. You’ve swiped your
way through every available woman
in London several times before…)
You wonder at all the reasons for
being here: the need, ego, boredom,
break-ups, resolutions, loneliness,
insatiability, dawdling curiosity. The want,
– yes, the endless want! – for sex, for touch,
for conversation, for companionship, for fresh
experience, for proximity to the brink of what
could be a better, fuller life with someone else.
All of that abbreviated to a breezy few
words (if there are any), appearance from two,
three, four, five, six different angles – splinters
gesturing at something whole – a trail of clues
laid out in clothes, posture, the inclusion of a
party, a graduation, glitter, a bikini, coffee shops,
mountains, mirror selfies with the flash still
on, grainy nights out, a tangle of friends,
the crossing of a marathon finish line.
And on the other side, you – reading
and gleaning endless subtleties, a (mildly)
ruthless detective in search of enough
evidence to swipe right, each minutiae of
decision-making amplified as you think
about eyebrows. And whether you’d ever
date an actor. And how it must feel to
actually identify as an “easygoing person”.
– Rosalind Jana
Excerpted from Rosalind’s forthcoming verse novel (currently very slowly taking shape) on sex, intimacy, dating, and desire.
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