April 29, 2025
by Marcus Delaney

I’m not proud of it, but I’ve always had a talent for reading people. It’s less of a skill and more of a survival mechanism, something I sharpened growing up in a house where words were weapons and silence was currency. I learned early that if you just shut up and pay attention, you start to see patterns—what people want, what they fear, where their soft spots are.

When I was younger, I used to think love was sacred. That old-school, storybook kind of bond where two people were enough for each other, forever. I had this naive belief that a good heart and honest intentions were all you needed. That idea didn’t survive middle school.

There was this girl—first crush, first everything, really. I was thirteen, stupid, and hopeful. I watched her hook up with a guy who used to copy my homework. No explanations. Just a slow, sinking realization that who you are doesn’t matter nearly as much as what you can offer.

That was the switch.

Over time, I studied the game—not in some sleazy pick-up artist way, but in a more subtle, long-play kind of approach. I listened. I learned the words that made people feel seen. I figured out how to mirror vulnerability, say just enough without revealing anything that could pin me down. I built a version of myself that felt safe, desirable, real—but was just smoke and well-placed mirrors.

I don’t chase. I create gravity.

Sometimes it lasts a few days. Sometimes months. I become the guy who understands her better than anyone. I give just enough intimacy to make her think it’s building toward something solid. Then when the moment comes—when I get what I’m looking for—I disappear. No fights, no closure, no mess. Just absence. I make sure there’s no trail to follow.

Why do I do it?

That’s the part I still haven’t figured out. Maybe it’s about control. Maybe it’s about making someone feel what I once felt—used, discarded, powerless. Or maybe I’m just afraid of being real with anyone.