I tried Match and OKCupid briefly in the oughts. I sent questions to men who never replied. No one sent me questions. Apparently I’m an acquired taste.

I have a special appeal for dairy farmers, I heard from 2 who messaged me or maybe the same person twice. Could be the manure I spread behind my ears.

I sent you a message or questions and either you didn’t reply or told me you weren’t interested. You lived in my neighborhood.

One night I was ushering at The Annenberg Center at Penn and when I handed you your program I think I said you looked familiar., I couldn’t place you. Eyes engaged, reciprocal smiles. You greeted me as librarymonkey, the moniker I used on dating sites. Must have made some kind of impression, it had been a year or more. Saw you several times after that while ushering, Learned to look for you. Your season tickets were a pair on the main floor. Easy to spot from the balcony where I was typically posted.

I was taking tickets and you came through my line with 2 tickets, only you. We chatted. I had bought a pair of tickets in the past only to find I didn’t have anyone who wanted to join me. You stopped and wrote your name and number on the back of a ticket I still have.

Thus it begins.

You once told me that you were good at things that required discipline. You turned 67 on Friday and died on Saturday. No coincidence.

A month ago you were hospitalized for pain. The last message you sent me was that you intended to fight this.

Too little, too late.

Save me a seat on the hell bus, I’d like to see you again.