I don't know why I'm writing this.

You ordered the same thing that I did and sat down at the table adjacent to mine. We made eye contact once or twice and each went back to looknig at our phones. Your yellow hair was pulled up, and you were wearing ripped jeans and a tee with my favorite band.

I looked up every now and then. I liked your eyes, your hair, your style, your smile - your everything.

I'm not sure if you looked at me too, (maybe when I wasn't looking). I was trying not to be creepy. I was trying to think of something to say, that wouldn't be out of place or context, but I froze. Just a few simple words. I didn't want to bother you, but I wanted to meet you, too.

We left at the same time, in the same direction. I swear I wasn't following you!

You looked at your phone as you stepped off the curb. I tried to think of something to say, but I froze. They say it's like slow-motion, but it happened so fast.

I stared at the front of the bus as the people around us pushed me aside. And I thought of what I should have said, just a few simple words: "look out!"

I knew you were different from the moment you stepped on the subway. I tried not to stare at you, but you were too much. Your nose was flushed red and your eyes slightly puffy. I wanted to talk to you, but every time I got the nerve to walk over and say something, you’d begin to hula hoop. The way the hula hoops followed your hips and waist was mesmerizing, and soon I’d forget what I was doing. It was impressive and I wanted to say so, but people kept glaring at you and remarking about how rude it was to hula hoop in a crowded subway. I think it was rude of them to distract you and me.

My stop came, but I didn’t leave. I remained on the subway, hoping to see you smile. Four stops later, you got off the subway. I ran over to the window and watched you. I think you might have seen me, long black hair, gray glasses, but some guy walked over to you and took hold of your hand. I don’t entirely remember, but I’m pretty sure you glanced back and gave me a smile. If you’re reading this, please meet me tomorrow (May 4th) at the movie theater on 34th Street at 3 PM sharp.

Thanks,

Clarence

Edit: It’s May 5th (Happy Cinco de Mayo). If you’re reading this, please meet me tomorrow. Same location, same time. - Clarence

Edit: It's been a week. I've been trying to find you again by riding the subway everyday at the same time. No luck. Perhaps you saw me, long black hair, gray glasses? I'm starting to get worried that guy might have killed you. If you're okay, meet me at the movie theater tomorrow (May 13th) at 3 PM.

We met ever so briefly.

I was the one with sweaty palms and Thumping

Heart

Sounds.

You told me that I didn't need to be afraid.

I wasn't dying.

I didn't have cancer, or AIDS, or the

Flesh eating bug.

I was good enough. I would pass.

I could get the girl.

I could talk to strangers. And friends.

And family.

I could take that journey.

You said it would all be OK.

Please come back.

Please, find me again.

I never realised how much I needed you:

How much I needed calm.

Looking for the drop dead gorgeous guy that was at the Kings Park library last Friday at 3 pm. We had a brief conversation in the fiction section through the book shelf. I could only see you from the neck up and figure you to be about 6′2″, with 50 shades of grey-green eyes, touchable sandy hair, strong chiseled chin, adorable dimple on your right cheek, and a thick neck that was bulging with veins telling me so much about you. You asked me what book I was looking for and I told you, Archer’s Voice; about a grieving woman looking for peace in a sleepy Maine town that stumbles upon an intriguing isolated man. I was slightly embarrassed to divulge that it’s a passionate love story, because well look at you. I’m sure there are women out there right now reading Harlequin Romances fantasizing about you. Shoulda went with my gut and let my embarrassment curb my enthusiasm to share my book choice with you damn it. When I couldn’t find the book, the librarian told me that some very handsome man just checked it out. Didn’t see that coming. Not cool dude. Bring back the book. Shoulda known better with guys like you.

You, the most beautiful. Me, presentable.

You, scent of strawberries. Me, motor oil.

You, head in the clouds. Me, staring at my feet.

You, long flowing hair. Me, balding in the back.

You, dressed up real nice. Me, heavy metal t-shirt.

I think we're a match. Let's light it up.

While drifting in the dark and mist, we crossed paths. I stopped to pet your adorably formidable dog - all three tongues licked my face, and I laughed. You were clearly not the laughing type, but I could tell you were amused. You told me how many escapees he'd disemboweled that week. Were you trying to impress me? I hope so. You were so totally in charge, I was tongue-tied, and could barely speak before you had to return to the gates. If you seek a consort, and felt the same connection I did, I will wait for you where the river of fire meets the Styx.

TARGET 15TH ST AND BELL

To the beautiful tan-faced woman who was passing out pamphlets in front of Target. You were lovely and well-informed about the Israeli-Palestinain conflict. I lost your flyer, but you have my credit card information. Charge me!

LOOKING AT YOU LOOKING AT ME

To the lovely girl watching me from the pecan tree in my yard. I was getting out of the shower and toweling off when I noticed you. Your binoculars magnified your eyes which were a simmering blue sea. I know you ran the moment I saw you, but I’d like to think you remembered you had a doctor’s appointment, or Mom called and she locked herself out again. I left my number in the woodpecker’s den. I don’t care if you want to talk or stalk. I’d like you in my life — even if I don’t know about it.

B,

Just wanted to sincerely thank you for ignoring me during that difficult time in which I thought that you had filmed me during our last encounter, after you shared those pics with M and said that it was me.

I later found out that M is a dude, when she suggested I hook up with her ex, who was in fact, her/him.

Zero fucks later, I am telling you this. Whatever.

If you care about me at all, you will not respond to this message, and will continue to live joyfully with your family, and I respect that immensely as I am doing same.

No hard feelings towards you, I learned many things, and constantly strive to improve myself thanks to what I learned about my flaws and shortcomings.

Best wishes,

E

Maybe you lost a bet or have a group of now former friends. Maybe you thought because they called it "stoopid" hot it was more of gimmick than game. Maybe they ran out of sweet tea or you just don't care for sweets (you did skip the moonpie banana pudding). Maybe fries without ketchup are the newest craze or cole slaw is out. Maybe you enjoy a good backslap on sunburnt shoulders or shave with cold water and a months over-gone blade. Maybe you peel off band-aids slowly or wear hard-soled new shoes on meandering hikes. Maybe your love of papercuts is surpassed only by discovering them when making lemonade, which you happened to skip in lieu of an almost glass of tepid water. Or just maybe your golden gut of the gods simply smirked as you tore through that basket of fire with an unbridled fervor that would make a junkyard hound blush. But you left your phone on the bench, and my buddy Mitch has it.

I hope you get the paper that has the advertisements of love wants. I paid $4.00 for this to be forwarded to you.

You helped me find the blades for my box cutter. Remember me? I realized everyone should have a box cutter. I just couldn't find the blades. In Walmart's isle, there you were looking so casual and kind so I asked you, the stranger, for help.

It was all I could do to not be too forward and ask if you were married or had a girlfriend.

I felt like I "let that one get away" after you helped me find the box cutter blades.

My name is Lisa. I don't even know yours.

Something about you I will never forget.

Call me if you get this,

Lisa