You spun me around at the Sunday salsa gathering, and I haven’t stopped thinking about your smile since. I wish I could remember more than just your moves—were you wearing a red hat, or was that all in my head?
I spilled my latte all over your sketchbook at the cafe on Bedford. You laughed and said it was “abstract art,” but I’d love to buy you a new notebook (and maybe another coffee).
We huddled under your umbrella while waiting for the bus, laughing awkwardly about the sudden downpour. I meant to ask your name but the bus came, and you disappeared into the mist. I owe you a coffee (and a dry sleeve).
You were reading “Norwegian Wood” with a yellow umbrella at your feet. Our eyes met when the train stopped over the Manhattan Bridge—I wish I’d said something, but my stop came too soon.
You were reading Murakami and laughing quietly to yourself, wrapped in a bright green scarf. We kept making eye contact between stops, but I lost you in the Union Square crowd. Did you ever finish the book?
You played “Hallelujah” on your violin as the A train screeched past 59th Street, and I gave you my only umbrella. I hope it kept you dry, and maybe, if you see this, we can share a subway car again—sans rain.
You smiled at me under your polka-dot umbrella as we both dodged puddles near the greenmarket. I tripped over my own feet and you laughed—was it at me or with me? If you see this, let's grab coffee somewhere dry.
You played “Hallelujah” on your violin as the A train screeched past 59th Street, and I gave you my only umbrella. I hope it kept you dry, and maybe, if you see this, we can share a subway car again—sans rain.
You smiled at me under your polka-dot umbrella as we both dodged puddles near the greenmarket. I tripped over my own feet and you laughed—was it at me or with me? If you see this, let's grab coffee somewhere dry.
You sat alone reading in a sunflower dress, glancing up every time the rowboats drifted by. I wanted to say hi but only managed an awkward nod—let’s turn a page together next time.
You grabbed the last everything bagel just as I reached for it, then flashed a guilty smile and offered me half. I said no, but now wish I’d shared more than a shrug.
We reached for the same Murakami book at Strand, locked eyes, and you let me have it with a shy smile. I wanted to offer you coffee as thanks, but I chickened out. If you want to swap book recommendations, let’s try again.
