When His Words Come With Fog

Some men speak in fog. The words sound warm, pleasant and reassuring, but the moment you try to figure out exactly what they mean, visibility drops considerably and you are left squinting into the distance wondering whether there was ever an actual plan hiding in there.

There is sunshine in the voice and somewhere behind it a bank of fog so thick you could lose a small yacht in it.

Nothing is quite clear enough to hold onto, yet everything sounds lovely while it is being said. There is just enough promise to keep you interested and just enough vagueness to make almost any interpretation possible.

“Let’s Go Out Sometime”

Lovely. Warm. Promising.

Also completely useless.

“Sometime” is a beautiful little word because it gives you the feeling of a plan without the inconvenience of actually having one. There is no day, no time, no place and no movement required; it is the dating version of saying, “We absolutely must have lunch,” to someone you have no intention of seeing before 2052.

And yet, when you like the man, your mind becomes an unpaid translator. Maybe he means next weekend, maybe work is busy, maybe he is waiting to see when you are free, or perhaps he simply does not want to seem too eager.

Meanwhile, he has said four words and you have created an entire social event.

This is the charm of murky language: it keeps everything pleasantly unresolved. He does not have to say yes, because yes creates expectations, and he does not have to say no, because no might close the door, so instead he gives you a sentence wearing a nice coat and no shoes.

“It’s Not You, It’s Me”

Then there is, “It’s not you, it’s me,” one of romance’s great classics.

People say this as though they have discovered a rare personal flaw and are nobly protecting you from it, when quite often it means something much simpler: “I do not want to continue this, but I would rather not explain every detail.”

Fair enough.

The fog arrives when the sentence is followed by warmth, apologies, little check-ins and enough tenderness to make you wonder whether the breakup is actually a breakup or merely an unusually emotional intermission. Before long, what sounded fairly definite has somehow developed several possible meanings.

“I Don’t Believe in Marriage”

The same thing happens with “I don’t believe in marriage.”

This sentence has produced an impressive amount of unnecessary hope because a woman can hear it quite clearly and still think, Yes, but perhaps he simply hasn’t met the right woman yet.

Which is, admittedly, a very flattering theory to have about yourself.

He says he does not want marriage and you know that you do. These are two perfectly clear statements standing in broad daylight, yet romance can still roll in the fog because certainty feels terribly inconvenient when it is not the certainty we wanted.

"I Don’t Want To Talk About It Right Now"

Then comes my personal favorite: “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Right now” is another tiny masterpiece because it suggests that a better moment exists somewhere nearby — perhaps Thursday, perhaps after his stressful week, perhaps when life is calmer and he finally feels ready.

So you wait for clearer skies, Thursday arrives, and the subject remains mysteriously atmospheric. Another week passes and, remarkably, conditions have not improved.

Eventually you may notice that he is not avoiding one particular conversation at all. He is avoiding the kind of conversation in which something definite might be required from him.

And this is where murky language becomes almost artistic.

“I miss you.”

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

“I wish things were different.”

All deeply moving phrases, and all capable of producing surprising emotional activity while requiring almost nothing in return.

An ex can say, “I miss you,” and mean every word. He may miss your laugh, your body, your Sunday mornings, the way you made his life softer, or simply the wonderful feeling of knowing somebody loved him.

Missing you, however, is not the same thing as having changed.

But hear those words at 10:47 p.m. after three weeks of silence and suddenly the fog comes rolling back in. Perhaps he finally understands, perhaps he wants to try again, perhaps this is the beginning of something completely different.

Or perhaps he misses you.

That last possibility is almost insultingly simple, which is why the mind has a remarkable tendency to walk straight past it.

This is what murky men are good at, whether they mean to be or not: they leave just enough empty space inside a sentence for you to furnish it yourself, and women can furnish beautifully.

Give us “sometime” and we can add Saturday night. Give us “I need space” and we can turn it into a temporary retreat before renewed devotion. Give us “I miss you” and, with sufficient chemistry, we can have the curtains up by morning.

The trouble with fog is not that there is necessarily nothing inside it; the trouble is that you cannot clearly see what is actually there.

A clear man may not always say what you hope to hear, but at least you do not need binoculars. He wants dinner Friday, he does not want a relationship, he wants marriage someday or he does not, and if he wants to try again, he can usually explain what he believes would be different.

No special visibility equipment required.

Murky language, on the other hand, can keep a woman standing in exactly the same place for months because every vague sentence sounds remarkably like movement when heard from a distance.

It is amazing how far “maybe” can travel without actually going anywhere.

Sometimes the mystery was never very mysterious at all.

It was simply fog with excellent manners.