You were the person with the sunflower tote bag who smiled at me across the crowded Q train near Union Square. I was the one nervously dropping my coffee, wishing I had the nerve to say hi before you got off at 57th Street.
We both reached for the last everything bagel at that Park Slope deli. You let me have it and joked that destiny was in carbs, but I froze and missed my chance to ask for your number. If you see this, maybe we can split a bagel next time?
It was pouring and my umbrella flipped inside out just as you offered yours outside Grand Central. I laughed, you laughed, then you ran for your train before I could even say thank you—or ask your name.
You were the person with the sunflower tote bag who smiled at me across the crowded Q train near Union Square. I was the one nervously dropping my coffee, wishing I had the nerve to say hi before you got off at 57th Street.
You were reading Murakami and sipping iced coffee at 7:45 am. We exchanged glances as the train lurched at Canal St—I spilled my tea, you smiled. If you felt that tiny spark, let’s try not to miss our stop next time.
You were reading Murakami and sipping iced coffee at 7:45 am. We exchanged glances as the train lurched at Canal St—I spilled my tea, you smiled. If you felt that tiny spark, let’s try not to miss our stop next time.
Friday afternoon, you sat next to me on a bench near Bethesda Fountain, filling out a crossword. You helped me with “12 Down” and smiled shyly when we finished. Wish I’d asked your name—maybe we can finish another puzzle together?
At 8:30 this morning, your bagel escaped its paper bag and rolled toward me. We both chased it, laughing—then traffic separated us and your breakfast was lost forever. Let’s split a bagel (or two) and continue laughing?
You were reading Murakami and sipping iced coffee at 7:45 am. We exchanged glances as the train lurched at Canal St—I spilled my tea, you smiled. If you felt that tiny spark, let’s try not to miss our stop next time.
You were reading Murakami and sipping iced coffee at 7:45 am. We exchanged glances as the train lurched at Canal St—I spilled my tea, you smiled. If you felt that tiny spark, let’s try not to miss our stop next time.
You sang quietly to yourself while waiting for your bagel, turning my mundane Monday morning into something magical. I was the guy in the Mets cap who wished he had the courage to join in. If you see this, maybe we can harmonize together—with bagels on the side?
You accidentally dropped your purple scarf near Bethesda Fountain, and I chased after you but couldn’t catch up before you disappeared into the crowd. If you’re missing your scarf and remember the out-of-breath stranger waving it overhead—maybe we can exchange stories and lost things over cider?
