You were a bleached-silver sylph sporting frills, tall, red socks, and, I think (?), a mother-of-pearl hair clasp. Notably, you slung a tote from Paloma Wool. I was the guy in the VFILES cap, the checkered jacket (lime green, yellow, black), and the yellow shirt beneath it. Heading south on the G, in the space of just a handful of minutes, we locked eyes three times — including the time you looked back before alighting at Bergen St. I nearly bolted from the train before the doors closed to say something to you, but I was aware that, had I misjudged, this would have been creepy (borderline arrestable behavior). But I hope I wasn't wrong. I hope we find each other.