It’s a beautiful Saturday morning, and I’m in bed feeling sad about a man I never wanted as a boyfriend. That detail makes the whole thing harder to explain, even to myself.
I’m in my mid-20s. After a five-year relationship, I’d spent years single, building my career and enjoying living alone. Then I met someone I clicked with. I wasn’t looking for a relationship, but a little fun sounded good.
We started seeing each other casually, discussed being sexually exclusive, and occasionally spent the night together. He was sweet and flirty. He checked in. When we were together, I felt comfortable and wanted.
Between visits, things changed. His replies got slower, the conversations got thinner, and I was usually the last person to send a message. Since casual dating was new to me, I kept assuming this might simply be how it worked.
I know I have anxious attachment tendencies, so I tried talking to him instead of guessing. He acknowledged the communication problem and made some changes. That mattered. It gave me a reason to stay when I’d been getting ready to leave.
One night after we’d seen each other, he asked whether I missed him. I playfully turned the question back on him. Then he disappeared for two days. When he returned, he said his reply hadn’t gone through and that he did miss me. I was relieved before I’d even decided whether I believed the explanation.
The same rhythm continued: a check-in, a few messages, silence. Once, I sent a second text and got an immediate reply. Then he vanished again, leaving two questions on read.
Other moments confused me, too. We’d remember conversations differently, or he’d mention something as though he’d already told me. He joked about my making his bed or cooking for him. I didn’t do either, and I couldn’t tell what he meant by asking.
Last night I came across the word breadcrumbing. It fit the pattern I’d been struggling to describe: little bursts of attention that kept me waiting for the version of him I liked in person.
I’ve decided I’m done. I haven’t blocked him or sent a final message yet. I may text him, or block him when I’m ready. For now, I’m still in bed on this bright morning, wishing I’d left sooner and trying to stop calling myself stupid.
