48 [M4F] #Midwest — Somewhere out there, maybe you miss this too
I’ve reached the age where loneliness no longer feels dramatic. It feels quiet. Familiar. Like a lamp left on in another room.
I work in the literary world and spend most of my days surrounded by stories, which may explain why I still believe connection is possible even in a culture that seems designed to avoid it. I’m a writer, a musician, a man with a cat curled somewhere nearby most nights, trying to build a life that still has softness in it.
I miss intimacy in the old-fashioned sense. Not sex. Not games. Not “situationships.” I miss being known. I miss private language between two people. I miss hearing a phone buzz and hoping it’s one particular person.
The nights are the hardest. There are moments where I reach across the bed half-asleep, instinctively wanting to put my arm around someone, and there’s nobody there. That empty space can ache in a way that’s difficult to admit out loud. It’s strange how physical loneliness becomes after enough time passes.
I suppose I’m old school in the way I love. Domestic. Romantic. Loyal. The kind of person who notices little things. I like long conversations that drift into vulnerable territory at 1 a.m. I like wit, intelligence, mutual curiosity, and the kind of banter that slowly becomes affection without either person realizing exactly when it happened.
As for attraction: I’ve always been drawn to women who feel warm and real to me — short, thick women with big hearts and deep minds. Kindness matters. Emotional intelligence matters. The ability to laugh at absurdity matters.
I’m not looking for anything shady or purely physical. I’m looking for a genuine connection with someone who also feels the absence of it. Someone who misses tenderness. Someone who wants to matter to another person again.
Maybe it starts with a few messages.
Maybe it becomes the reason we look at our phones and smile.
Maybe one morning there’s finally a good morning text waiting for both of us.
That would be enough to begin.