You don’t exist on social media, which is evidence enough that I’ve tried to find you.
You had wild, dare-me eyes. I fell in love the first time we scampered home from a dive bar. They still smoked inside. You ordered us one more shot and a beer.
We crossed a block of rowhomes too modern for your tastes. You went up to one and rang the doorbell. Then darted to the next. And another. I was in awe at your recklessness.
The ending is fuzzier. I returned from a few months abroad. We kissed again. It felt like a goodbye. Years later, it remains so.