Notes On: Conversations That Go Nowhere

Dreams and the Ghost of My Ex.

Hinge, Dreams, and Emptiness

Artist Unknown, please let me know if you know the artist's name.

Two weeks after the breakup, I downloaded Hinge. Partly out of curiosity, partly out of a desperate attempt to fill the silence he left behind. I thought I’d take the advice everyone gives you: ‘Just put yourself out there again.’ So, I downloaded Hinge. I swiped for a few hours, matched with eight people, and then, something inside me hesitated. It all felt wrong. I took a step back and deleted my profile. Swiping through profiles had already felt mechanical, like scrolling through a catalogue of strangers trying to sell themselves. Some matches were funny, others charming, but no matter how clever the banter, it felt hollow. I’d reply, but my heart wasn’t in it. All I could think was, This isn’t him.

It felt ironic, almost cruel, to be back on the same app where we had met. When we were together, I’d thought of Hinge as the starting point of something meaningful, a connection that outgrew the app itself. I never imagined I’d see myself on it again. Now, every swipe reminded me of what I’d lost, and I couldn’t stand it. I despised the app, not just for what it was, but for what it had once meant to me.

Screenshot that I took of Hinge profiles.

Every conversation was the same, like a script I’d read too many times: favourite hobbies, funny stories, surface-level compliments and a lot of horny guys, which I didn’t enjoy. It gave me a fleeting sense of validation, but nothing that felt real. Not like what I had. With him, even silence felt meaningful. With these guys, even their best attempts at connection felt like noise.