I keep writing new versions
of myself
that sound open and easy.
Ones that don’t ask for
too much too soon.
I download Timeleft,
an app for meeting strangers
at the dinner table,
letting the evening do its work.
A hope that
before the night closes,
a deep conversation will break out
uniting the table,
despite who shows up.
But sometimes
the brief hope of connection
turns into a ghosted nothing.
Each failed attempt almost
a verdict on the soul.
Maybe it’s just strangers
missing each other
in ordinary ways.
I keep trying,
wading through
awkward bios,
stalled chats,
almost-plans,
to find someone
out there that wants
a real conversation,
unforced laughter,
a reason to stay.
Chestnut Cowboy 