Entry Ten: "Back to the Apps (Attempt 2)"

Dear Moon,

I thought effort would be enough.

I'm in bed, propped against the pillows, phone in my hand. The lamp on my nightstand casts a warm glow across the room, but the light from the screen is colder, blue-white, bright.

I'm swiping.

Left. Left. Left.

The faces blur together. A guy holding a fish. A guy at the gym. A guy whose entire profile is group photos where I can't tell which one he is.

I swipe left on all of them.

This is different than before.

When I first downloaded these apps, back when I was re-entering, testing the waters, there was something almost hopeful about it. Like maybe the next swipe would reveal someone interesting. Someone who'd surprise me.

But now?

Now it feels like work.

I match with someone. The notification pops up. It's a match! And I feel... nothing. No flutter. No curiosity. Just the mechanical awareness that I should probably send a message.

I tap his profile. Read his bio. "Love to travel. Foodie. Looking for someone to explore with."

Generic. Safe. Boring.

But I type anyway: "Hey! Where's the last place you traveled?"

Send.

I don't wait for a response. I just keep swiping.

Left. Left. Right. Left.

Another match. Another message: "Your profile caught my eye. What do you do for fun?"

Send.

I set the phone down on my chest. Stare at the ceiling.

Why does this feel like I'm shopping?

Like I'm scrolling through a catalog, trying to find something that fits.

Something that checks the boxes. Something that looks right. It's like a marketplace of men.

But nothing feels right.

My phone buzzes. A response from the first guy: "Just got back from Costa Rica!

You?"

I pick up the phone. Type: "That sounds amazing. I haven't traveled much lately, but I'd love to."

It's not a lie. But it's not really true either. I'm just... saying what you're supposed to say.

Another buzz. The second guy: "I'm into hiking, trying new restaurants, hanging with friends. You?"

I type: "Same! I love being outside."

Which is true. But also feels hollow. Like I'm performing interest instead of actually feeling it.

I keep swiping.

Left. Left. Left.

The rhythm is almost meditative. Swipe, assess, decide. Swipe, assess, decide.

But my body feels heavy. My fingers are moving, but the rest of me is just...

tired.

This isn't what I thought it would be.

I thought if I just put in the effort, if I showed up, stayed open, kept trying, something would click. Someone would appear who felt different. Who made me want to stop swiping and start paying attention.

But instead, it's just... volume.

Endless faces. Endless bios. Endless small talk that goes nowhere.

I match with someone else. He messages first: "Hey beautiful. What are you up to tonight?"

I don't respond. I just swipe left on his profile and keep going.

Left. Left. Left. hmmm

My phone is buzzing constantly now. Notifications piling up. Messages coming in. Matches waiting for replies.

And I feel nothing.

Just the weight of it. The sheer exhausting volume of options that don't feel like options at all.

I think about him.

The sun man. The way our conversation flowed so easily the other night. The way I didn't have to perform or prove or convince. The way he just... knew.

This... this is nothing like that.

This is transactional. Surface-level. A game of saying the right things to keep the conversation going, even when you don't really care where it leads.

I set my phone down. Face-up on the bed beside me. The screen is still glowing, notifications still coming in.

But I don't pick it up.

I just lie here. Staring at the ceiling. Feeling the heaviness settle into my chest.

I'm not giving up.

I know that. I'm still here. Still trying. Still showing up.

But this, this feels like a job.

Like something I have to do, not something I want to do.

Like effort that isn't translating into anything real.

I close my eyes. Take a breath.

The room is quiet except for the soft buzz of my phone. Another message. Another match. Another person I'm not sure I want to meet.

And I realize: I can keep doing this. I can keep swiping, keep messaging, keep going on dates with people who look right on paper but feel wrong in person.

Or I can admit what I already know.

This isn't leading me anywhere.

Not because the men are wrong. Not because I'm not trying hard enough.

But because connection isn't something you can force through effort.

It's not something you can swipe your way into.

It's not something you can manufacture by saying the right things or showing up to the right places.

It either exists or it doesn't.

And here, in this endless scroll of faces and bios and small talk, it doesn't.

I open my eyes. Pick up my phone. Look at the screen.

Three new messages. Five new likes. A dozen more profiles waiting to be swiped.

I close the app.

Set the phone face-down on the nightstand.

And lie back in the dark.

I'm still here.

Still trying. Still showing up.

But I'm tired.

So tired.

—Still here, still trying, still tired