4288 results found in Missed Connections, United States

You were the one in the blue Eagles cap, swaying with the train as we both hung onto the same pole. We locked eyes every time the train jolted, but I was too shy to say hi before you hopped off at 30th Street. If you remember the girl clutching her Wawa coffee, let's try to catch the same train again.

You shared your orange umbrella with me during Tuesday’s downpour at Bedford Ave, then vanished into the crowd at 1st Ave. I never got your name, just a smile and dry shoulders. Coffee sometime?

Saturday night, Union Square subway platform—you spun around me in your bright red salsa shoes and joked I should join your impromptu dance. You left before I could say yes and embarrass myself in front of everyone. Let me try again?

We both sat on the same bench by the Bethesda Fountain, reading the same book—“Crying in H Mart.” You caught me crying and offered a tissue. I wish I’d asked for your number instead of just saying thanks.

You shared your orange umbrella with me during Tuesday’s downpour at Bedford Ave, then vanished into the crowd at 1st Ave. I never got your name, just a smile and dry shoulders. Coffee sometime?

Saturday night, Union Square subway platform—you spun around me in your bright red salsa shoes and joked I should join your impromptu dance. You left before I could say yes and embarrass myself in front of everyone. Let me try again?

We both sat on the same bench by the Bethesda Fountain, reading the same book—“Crying in H Mart.” You caught me crying and offered a tissue. I wish I’d asked for your number instead of just saying thanks.

You shared your orange umbrella with me during Tuesday’s downpour at Bedford Ave, then vanished into the crowd at 1st Ave. I never got your name, just a smile and dry shoulders. Coffee sometime?

Saturday night, Union Square subway platform—you spun around me in your bright red salsa shoes and joked I should join your impromptu dance. You left before I could say yes and embarrass myself in front of everyone. Let me try again?

We both sat on the same bench by the Bethesda Fountain, reading the same book—“Crying in H Mart.” You caught me crying and offered a tissue. I wish I’d asked for your number instead of just saying thanks.

You shared your orange umbrella with me during Tuesday’s downpour at Bedford Ave, then vanished into the crowd at 1st Ave. I never got your name, just a smile and dry shoulders. Coffee sometime?

You shared your orange umbrella with me during Tuesday’s downpour at Bedford Ave, then vanished into the crowd at 1st Ave. I never got your name, just a smile and dry shoulders. Coffee sometime?