Hope you’re enjoying your cheap entertainment, you fuck. Hope you’re feeling better about yourself with all the artificial praise you’re getting from girls that don’t give a shit about you.

What I could tell you if you weren't a dismissive avoidant:

This is really out of the blue, but I really wanted to speak about something that's been on my mind. I know it's not fair to give you my emotions and feelings when you literally don't have to care or do anything about it.

Before we even matched, I really wanted to get to know you. I had you in my "Favourites" for if/when I get my free monthly compliment on Muzz, I would send it to you. When I downloaded Baklava by chance of an ad out of my loneliness, I was overjoyed to see that I could send you a message with my 'like' for free.

When I saw you accept my match on both platforms, it was a day after I cried my heart out about a boy who doesn't deserve the amount of attention and attraction I gave him. I cried because he had the potential in looks, but kept lying about his job as a doctor.

When you talked to me that Wednesday, I was head over heels in love. I had just gotten the news that I was being promoted, and the rest of the day I wanted nothing more than to just talk to you for hours. It was like extending the same high I got from my news onto a man I wanted to get to know weeks ago.

I went to bed dreaming about you, I woke up with a smile with your sweet and highly personalized good morning messages. I was so engulfed in the idea of you that I forgot to swipe on the other apps. Actually, I didn't want to swipe on the other apps. I didn't want to accept a reality where you weren't mine.

Then you gave me your number because you wanted me to hear your voice. That's when it went downhill. I put on makeup and took pictures of me in exchange for yours, and you ignored me. Not a single acknowledgement. I was so heart broken. What if he just didn't notice it? What if he saw it and thought I was ugly? I didn't know what to think, I just kept going, using your concussion excuse as the only thing keep my high going.

You moved me into the next stage of voice calling, which was your idea of course. Your hesitation triggered my anxiety, but your hour of laughter and bubbliness is what kept me afloat. You wanted to talk again tomorrow, and I went to bed with the excitement of hearing your voice again.

You blew me off on Thursday, then you ignored me for over a day. You apologized, of course, but I was heart broken. I knew you had a demanding job, how could I blame you? Your Baklava activity is what crushed me though. Why do you keep going online if you're swamped? I had my guard up, but I was still emotionally deeply tied to you.

You wanted to call me Sunday night, but I was straightening my hair, I'm sorry I lied. When I couldn't make it up to you, you punished me with 2 days of silence. I thought you gave up on me, I thought you hated me.

My only saving grace is the idea that I was passing by your neighbourhood the next day. You dropped everything in that moment to squeeze me into your "busy" calendar. You were suspicious from the start, but my heart needed you to be there.

When I was in Toronto, you said the sky brightened up when I came. I rode your charisma the whole day. My coworkers were suspicious of you, your tardiness... But I protected you. Your call at the BrainStation gave me flickers of TJ. Your tired voice, your sheepish smile... Is this why I like you?

When you came to meet me, you were so well dressed. You smelled great. You were exactly the height you said you were. But why were you wearing sunglasses at night? Why did you have your headphones in the whole time? Why didn't you smile? Why didn't you open doors for me?

You left me at Union Station, and I was confused and deflated. The bones in my body were no longer in the tightened state they were. They were relaxed and reflective. A piece of my brain did not see you as a husband, the illusion of my love for you was gone.

I went home and we texted. No one talked about their mutual interest. You were my pen pal again. You called me whenever you wanted, and you gave me a thumbs up when you didn't want to discuss my boundary.

When I decided to channel my anger and anxiety into being unhinged, calling you left me even more deflated. I came in wanting to hear your voice, wanting to see you, but you were vaping. You didn't want me to delete the app like the big proclamation you made. You didn't want to talk about what we were.

And yet, my heart still skipped a beat every time you talked to me about the Prophet, told me that you avoided doing things that were anti-Islamic... All while holding that stupid vape. All while keeping that same straight face you always keep. Once again: The bones in my body wanted to push you away, but my heart liked you enough to fear the confrontation I was going to have to do.

Asking you about the vape, you said: "If that's a problem, I completely understand..." What did that mean? You didn't want me around? You wanted to talk about it? I panicked and all you gave me was a thumbs up. One big fat thumbs up. My heart was so broken, and my head was clouded with confusion. I thanked you for being great. And all you said a day later was "not sure how to respond... wish you the best of luck."

What the fuck?

You're letting all that potential get thrown away? You're letting me give up on us? You're not going to fight for me? It felt like I was on fire. I was slowly letting you fade into the background, and my anxiety took the drivers seat. "Let me know if anything changes" am I insane?

I brought this up and ruined it for the both of us. I wanted to be Islamic-first, and it backfired because I lost you. I lost the good and bad parts of you. I missed the attention from you. I missed the growth from you.

And most of all, I am lamenting standing up for what I believe in, all because no other man has made me feel the way you do. No other man has wrapped his around around the back of the escalator while he talked to me. No man has put his face 15cm from mine while we talked about the education system.

And most importantly, no man has made me go to bed thinking about our wedding, our future, and given me hope even when everything with him seemed hopeless. My brain swayed between "this is the end" and "this is just the start". It swayed from "maybe it's just my mental illness" to "maybe he's right".

And now every time I leave my house, I am forced to be reminded of your memory. The Zonnic ad. The Well. The exact number of minutes Viv walks from her condo to The Well. The Cannibas store your friend owns. The exact route we walked on our date. The smell of urine and pot at the station.

My new shoes have memories of you. I wore my brown shoes to Square One, where I took that selfie just for you. I wore my white shoes to our first date, just for you. I wore my black shoes to our remote video call, just for you.

I saved my green shoes as a blank slate without memories of you. You can't take all of me within 3 weeks. A shoe a week. I bought these shoes before I even knew we were going to talk, and yet you are engrained in 3 of the 4 shoes I bought.