1254 results found in Personals

You spilled your latte but laughed it off and gave me a wink while I nervously tried not to stare from the next table. Before I could work up the courage to say hello, you dashed out with your headphones in. If you remember the good-natured barista with wild purple hair, I’d love another chance.

We twirled to the music of the saxophonist on a sunny afternoon, laughing as if we’d known each other for years. I lost you in the crowd near the fountain when my phone rang. Wish I’d asked you to dance one more song.

You offered me shelter from the rain with your bright green umbrella as we waited for the train at Bedford Ave. I got off at 1st Ave, too shy to ask your name. If you remember the puddle splash, let’s try again (hopefully drier this time).

You spilled your latte but laughed it off and gave me a wink while I nervously tried not to stare from the next table. Before I could work up the courage to say hello, you dashed out with your headphones in. If you remember the good-natured barista with wild purple hair, I’d love another chance.

We twirled to the music of the saxophonist on a sunny afternoon, laughing as if we’d known each other for years. I lost you in the crowd near the fountain when my phone rang. Wish I’d asked you to dance one more song.

You offered me shelter from the rain with your bright green umbrella as we waited for the train at Bedford Ave. I got off at 1st Ave, too shy to ask your name. If you remember the puddle splash, let’s try again (hopefully drier this time).

You held your broken umbrella like a wounded bird, dripping on my shoes and apologizing with a shy smile. We both laughed when the train lurched and our coffees collided—wish I’d asked your name before my stop at Lexington.

We kept catching each other’s eyes over the lox counter while you debated between sesame and pumpernickel. You smiled when I dropped my napkin; I should’ve offered to split a bagel.

You dropped a red glove near the Bethesda Fountain and I chased after you, but you melted into the weekend crowd before I could catch up. If you’re missing a glove—and maybe curious glances—let’s try again.

You held your broken umbrella like a wounded bird, dripping on my shoes and apologizing with a shy smile. We both laughed when the train lurched and our coffees collided—wish I’d asked your name before my stop at Lexington.

We kept catching each other’s eyes over the lox counter while you debated between sesame and pumpernickel. You smiled when I dropped my napkin; I should’ve offered to split a bagel.

You dropped a red glove near the Bethesda Fountain and I chased after you, but you melted into the weekend crowd before I could catch up. If you’re missing a glove—and maybe curious glances—let’s try again.