you aren't anyone until someone writes a missed connection about you

Out of order. We live in an out of order world. A world that moves backwards while roller skating forward. Moving out of order through the ending into the beginning of things. And then we wonder why it all doesn’t work out, as it shall. Out of order. There are many a symptoms to show we live in an out of order world. One is missed connections. The concept might have had its place, maybe. Craigslist where you can buy a bed, find an apartment, a date, a lay, and a job. Crazy. She -my friend and me began to read the missed connections as a hobby. As a pastime. And laugh. And secretly hope we would be on it one day. Why? I am not sure. Maybe it is the part to be seen from a far. For someone to long for you. And care so much not to say hello- hello to your face but play some fate roulette spinning around until.


I had a joke that you aren’t anyone until someone writes a missed connection about you. About you. But that was after someone had written one about me. You can’t really say that unless you have. So the time it happened to me.


I was in a café. I spoke to a man. And I realized while I was speaking about sharing the plug-I glanced backwards to realize he was actually attractive and been sitting there all along. Out of order. We had a momentary conversation that stretched longer than it should. It sat in the room bubbling above us as he walked away. As he walked away he glanced back. And in his hat and his semi smile I knew that he would write a missed connection about me. I just knew. Knew until. I forgot.

The next day as I sat in that same café. I remembered. And on the internet I jumped. Onto the craigs. And searched the café’s name. Que tal. Ready for nothing. And there it was. Brunette woman speaking of acupuncture blah blah blah. It was me. I felt naked. I looked around the room to see if he was there again. I didn’t know what to do. I felt flattered and strangely watched in unison. The out of order of attraction. The out of order of hello. What is your name-what is your number- left to the silenced words on the screen.


So I replied. Very short. Just to make sure it was me. I asked what we had talked about. And I watched the cursor flick on and off. Until I press send. Let fate run its course backwards, with your eyes closed, in a bad romantic comedy where gestures are not grand. I press send. And checked and checked but nothing.


Out of order. The out of order connection. It is out of order way to get to know someone. Someone. I guess if you aren’t willing to put on your big boy pants and say something more before you go on your way in this thing called life, but take the time to write it all down and put it on the internet that might just be your gig. Your game. Your mo. You might just idealize and love from afar.


I recant you aren’t anyone until someone missed connects you, you are someone when you know its better for someone just to sit a little longer-longer than out of order connecting through a device. The out of order of courting. I want to flip around and go the right away on the track. Still my way. But not backwards. Not with my eyes closed. Not texting my way into romance. Just starting with the hello. Out loud. To each others faces.