Search Results: enjoy it

(Cue old woman voice), back in the day, people used to just go to concerts for full vibes. They would enjoy the artist(s), and just let the music move them. Now, a vast majority go to concerts, phone in hand, blocking others views, and try to get it all on tape for youtube, insta, or social media, rather than are they fully taking in the experience.

Here’s a tightened, cleaner version at exactly 2,000 characters:

We met on a dating app—no, not Tinder—and he messaged me first. We talked for a few days and clicked fast. We’re both artists learning tattooing, traded art, hyped each other up, then moved to texting. He kept asking for selfies, calling me beautiful, and sending his back. He was cute, fit, tall enough without being towering, and covered in tattoos like me.

He wanted to hang out and hook up, but I needed childcare, so we planned for him to come over while my six-month-old napped and I monitored the baby the whole time. He even offered Starbucks and gas-station snacks, which I declined. When he arrived he hugged me, took off his shoes without being asked, admired my gaming setup, and cuddled with me on the couch. He complimented my hair, touched it gently, then kissed me. We hooked up and the chemistry was real—he was attentive, no awkwardness, very compatible.

Afterward we talked, and he said he’d probably come over again the next day. Before he came over I’d warned him my ex’s belongings were still there in trash bags by the door. When he noticed them at the end of the night he tensed and said I should get rid of them. I agreed, and he relaxed. He hugged and kissed me goodbye. I noticed dimples I’d never seen in photos, told him they were cute, and he abruptly said goodnight.

The next day he barely replied. Then out of nowhere he texted, “I think I’m gay lmao.” I couldn't tell if he was kidding. He said he was serious and had been thinking about it. I noticed he’d unmatched me on the app. I respected it but asked if this was just him disappearing after sex. He said it wasn’t about me, just stuff in his head. I told him if he ever figured things out he could text me. He promised he would and sent a black heart. We haven’t spoken since.

I’m 25, he’s 27, and I’d just left an abusive relationship. I wasn’t naïve—just enjoying my freedom. Still, the whole thing doesn’t make sense.