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Things I thought were real. m4w This. Us. I don't know why I thought that; it was a crazy idea to begin with. We've never spoken; we've never even met. Well, there was that one time on the train platform when you dropped your wallet and I had to run after you, all the way up the escalator and to the gate, to give it back. A smaller person would have kept it; you were wearing designer shoes, or anyway they were shiny and perfect without a single scuff mark. As a guy, I imagine that must mean they were designer. And that it must mean there might have been more than a pocketful of change in your wallet.
I might have kept it. I might have pulled out your license and seen your name and shouted it in the crowded subway so you knew I was trying to get your attention. Apparently "hey" and "miss" don't do the trick like they did in those old movies, where "hey" and "miss" only gathered the attentions of the woman being ed (despite crowds and other misses that may have been around). So when I "hey miss"'d you, you kept going, and I had to practiy throw myself to your feet to get you to turn around.
Would I have exited the subway and followed you? I wonder about that sometimes.
So no, we've never met, so it's almost insane that I expected there would be more between us. It's almost insane that I'm sitting here on my couch in my living room thinking of conversations we might be having, thinking of all the ideas we'd form together. The room would be cleaner and the curtains would be open, not dusty, because when you have a woman around somehow your house becomes more open, more friendly-- and most importantly, more clean. It's not a mess, mind you; it's just in a sudden state of disarray that I can't explain. Usually it's better, I promise.
In any case, the room would be cleaner and you'd be able to see all the colors (not just the dark blues barely discernible from the dark greens, the deep reds almost exactly like the browns) and we'd be sitting on this couch with smiles on our faces.
But I just had a thought: Your only impression of me has been a half-sweaty, tired, disheveled guy ing you out in the open, making a POINT to point you out and separate you from the crowd, holding your wallet and weakly saying, "your wallet, miss." I don't know if you detected the romance; it probably stank of desperation. I don't know if you detected the smirk; it probably looked like the same creepy smile you get from old men at bars when you go out with your friends. I'm sorry. I'm not usually that untethered. You threw me off guard; your wallet fell right in front of me while I was thinking about how beautiful your hair was and then I seized an opportunity to say hello.
Instead, I said, "your wallet, miss," and threw it at you like a crazy unfulfilled homeless man.
What a jip. I might have charmed your pants off (figuratively speaking) had I been given another chance. I might have asked for your number and gotten it. Instead, I rolled up to you with my shirt half tucked in and my jacket unzipped, revealing the post-work disarray that is my signature on the uncaring, anonymous train home, and slurred out a couple words that may have frightened you. Miss? Miss!? Who s anyone "miss" these days? I gotta stop watching those old movies.
Yet here I sit even with these realizations, understanding that you don't know me and haven't given me a second thought and that I made the worst possible impression any business professional has ever made to a peer (or beautiful woman)... And yet, even through that, I wonder why you're not next to me speculating about the wonders of the universe.
Because the truth is, maybe I'm a little bit of a romantic, and maybe I thought something happened between us. Maybe I felt a spark; maybe you felt it too, but you're so cornered in by modern culture that the VERY IDEA that a "spark" with a stranger on the Metro platform (especially one in such a state as I was) merely means that you recognize there is physical attraction. I beg to differ. I think there might be physical attraction, sure, but I also think there might be something more.
My best friend met the love of her life at L'Enfant Plaza; all she did was sit next to him.
Is it so insane to have thought there was something real between us?
I guess so. I guess that's why I'm posting here instead of joking with you about all the ways we should tell people we met because we're too embarrassed to tell the real story. Or we'd say, "We met in Chinatown." Or we'd say, "We crossed paths and walked straight into each other's hearts." Or we'd simply say, "We met through a friend of a friend," because I guess that's easier.
You: Pink business suit jacket, black skirt, calf-length shiny black boots (not a scuff, really!).
Me: Brown unzipped jacket flapping in the wind, loose tie, white shirt in one side and out the other.
Please tell me you thought of me at least once the next day.
Please tell me you remember. I'm tired of being the only one.

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LOL My 5 cents is that you definitely have more in common with the ex since you both sound like drama revolving duo. Hence most mentally fit/- people wouldn't get themselves stuck in the past but you guys what I would do if i was involved in this sorta thing,if I were you (which really is out of my league ),is get myself revolving back to the one alike me "EX" and let the current gf go find someone deserving of her. This way you and ex can fully enjoy bathing in your semen in in a tub at somebody -'s sunset vista she originally free loading off don't forget to help the owner brag about their belonging after each use you hear?

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