4288 results found in Missed Connections, United States

You asked me for book recommendations in the poetry aisle, and we argued good-naturedly about Emily Dickinson. I chickened out before asking for your number; can we debate sonnets over coffee sometime?

We shared a pole on the Q train during yesterday’s downpour—you with your emerald green umbrella, me with the soaked backpack. Our eyes met as you saved me from a falling stranger. If you want to finish the conversation we never started, let’s make it happen.

You were reading a dog-eared Murakami novel, headphones in, looking up just long enough to catch my smile between stops at Belmont and Fullerton. I wanted to ask about your book, but lost my nerve when the train filled up. If you remember the shy guy in the navy coat, let's finish the conversation we never had.

You were reading a dog-eared Murakami novel, headphones in, looking up just long enough to catch my smile between stops at Belmont and Fullerton. I wanted to ask about your book, but lost my nerve when the train filled up. If you remember the shy guy in the navy coat, let's finish the conversation we never had.

We high-fived after that wild 7th inning, spilled some nachos, and argued about best ballpark snacks. Your Cubs hat had a vintage pin—if you see this, I’d love to share another game (and maybe less messy nachos) with you.

The wind turned my umbrella inside out, and you offered yours as we both darted into the Tribune lobby, laughing at the Chicago weather. I still remember your infectious laugh and kind eyes—wishing I'd asked to buy you coffee after the rain.

You were reading a dog-eared Murakami novel, headphones in, looking up just long enough to catch my smile between stops at Belmont and Fullerton. I wanted to ask about your book, but lost my nerve when the train filled up. If you remember the shy guy in the navy coat, let's finish the conversation we never had.

We high-fived after that wild 7th inning, spilled some nachos, and argued about best ballpark snacks. Your Cubs hat had a vintage pin—if you see this, I’d love to share another game (and maybe less messy nachos) with you.

The wind turned my umbrella inside out, and you offered yours as we both darted into the Tribune lobby, laughing at the Chicago weather. I still remember your infectious laugh and kind eyes—wishing I'd asked to buy you coffee after the rain.

You were reading a dog-eared Murakami novel, headphones in, looking up just long enough to catch my smile between stops at Belmont and Fullerton. I wanted to ask about your book, but lost my nerve when the train filled up. If you remember the shy guy in the navy coat, let's finish the conversation we never had.

We shared an umbrella when a sudden rainstorm hit near Casa Rio. Your laugh was louder than the mariachi band, and I forgot to ask your name as the crowd swept us apart. Let’s recreate our mini adventure—umbrella optional!

We sat side by side at the Spurs game Tuesday night—me in the Manu Ginóbili jersey, you wearing a silver and black scarf. Our cheers were perfectly in sync, but I froze when the final buzzer sounded. If you remember me, let’s catch the next game together!