Sabyasachi Roy
(Field notes from a romantic swamp)
Modern dating is a marsh. Not metaphorically. Like, if you listen closely, you can hear the faint suction of hope being pulled under by the boot of someone who “forgot to reply” for four to seven business weeks. As a lifelong birdwatcher, I have accidentally applied my binoculars to the romantic ecosystem—same pattern recognition, but now with more emotional mildew. You learn to read behaviors: sudden flight, cryptic chirping, puffed-up mating displays that involve oddly specific playlists and avocado emojis. And then, just as you’re constructing your happy little nest out of mutual inside jokes and “good morning :)” texts, they disappear. Poof. Like a sandpiper on Adderall. So I did what any emotionally responsible adult with a spreadsheet addiction would do: I documented them. Categorized the species. Not out of bitterness (okay, maybe some), but for science. For survival. For the poor fool currently decoding a message that says “lol ur cute” at 2:13 a.m. This field guide is for you. Yes, you. Put down the phone. Stop rereading the text. They’re not going to text back. This is your emergency ornithological intervention. Welcome to Modern Dating Red Flags: As Interpreted by a Birdwatcher. Bring galoshes. And a tetanus shot.
Specimen 1: The Ghoster
Latin Name: Exitus abruptus
Behavioral Notes: First sighted mid-March. Bright eyes. Laughed at my jokes, or convincingly faked it.
Nest-building behavior initiated (shared Spotify playlist, mutual following on BeReal), but then—radio silence.
Typical habitat: my unread DMs.
Possible predator attack? Unlikely. More probable: migration to a hotter mate in another area code.
Calls: None. Literally.
Specimen 2: The Soft Launch Specialist
Latin Name: Instagramus obscurus
Field Observation: Captures you only in shadows, elbow croppings, or your blurry outline reflected in a soup spoon.
Photographic evidence remains “ambiguous,” like a UFO sighting in rural Kentucky.
Mating ritual includes public story posts of two cocktails—always two—but no tagging.
Defense mechanism: “I’m just private.” (So is a tax audit.)
Specimen 3: The Breadcrumbing Warbler
Latin Name: Snackus emotionalis
Calls: “You up?” “Let’s hang out soon.” “We should totally get dinner sometime, maybe, idk lol.”
They leave trails of flirt crumbs across your week. Text you just enough to prevent emotional starvation but not enough to count as nourishment.
Will vanish for five days, then send a Reel of a raccoon playing the drums.
Don’t follow the crumbs. They lead to your own emotional basement.
Specimen 4: The Trauma Oversharer
Latin Name: Oversharius dumptruckus
First Encounter: App chat turned into a TED Talk about their ex’s tax fraud.
Within 30 minutes, I knew their attachment style, birth chart, and the exact number of times they’ve cried in a Planet Fitness.
Mating dance includes multiple uses of the phrase “I’ve just been through a lot.”
Excretes childhood drama like a frightened squid.
Specimen 5: The Hobby Cultist
Latin Name: Singulus obsessionae
They don’t date—they recruit.
You thought you were having a flirty conversation. Suddenly you’re $40 deep in rock climbing gear.
Spotted often in Patagonia vests or with suspiciously aerodynamic water bottles.
Don’t mistake this for compatibility. You’re just the newest inductee into the Church of Trail Mix and Blisters.
Mating call: “You should come to my group hike. It’s chill.” It is not chill.
Specimen 6: The Future Tripper
Latin Name: Projectionus grandiosae
One date in and they’ve already planned a joint tax filing.
Mentions their future dog to you. His name is Banjo. You’re both vegan now.
You have not kissed yet.
Often confuses mild interest with emotional destiny.
Not dangerous, but exhausting.
Specimen 7: The “Actually” Male (Subspecies: Factus Interruptus)
Latin Name: Misplainer maximus
Spotted explaining your own story back to you, with incorrect footnotes.
Migrates between podcasts with titles like “Alpha Brainstorm.”
Common phrase: “Actually, what women really want is…”
Often misidentifies sarcasm, metaphors, and your patience threshold.
Coloration: Beige.
Specimen 8: You
Latin Name: Hopefulus masochistus
Spotted redownloading Hinge for the fourth time this week.
Still believes “this one’s different.”
Has confused a red flag with a decorative banner more than once.
Call: “It’s fine, I’ll just go with the flow.” (Narrator: It was not fine.)
Common nesting behavior: waiting on Read receipts and overanalyzing emoji tone.
Field Closing Notes: If you come across them? Look at them, don’t look at them, whatever. If your pride’s already in a ditch somewhere? Tilt sideways, pretend to be very busy tapping nothing on your phone, and erase their existence like it was written in chalk during a hurricane. Zigzag your exit while fake-texting someone named “Dr. Lisa” and scrubbing their number like it’s nuclear launch codes.
Sabyasachi Roy is an academic writer, poet, artist, and photographer. His poetry has appeared in Viridine Literary, The Broken Spine, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review, The Potomac, and more. He contributes craft essays to Authors Publish and has a cover image in Sanctuary Asia. His oil paintings have been published in The Hooghly Review. You can follow his writing on Matador here:
https://creators.matadornetwork.com/profile/e0x59k96/
Craft essays: https://sabyasachiroy.substack.com/
Featured photo by Alex Green (Pexels)
I read quite a few items of interest on diverse literary websites. This is one of the best of 2025. You have a keen eye for both visual detail and interesting adjectives.