“Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.” —Ludwig Wittgenstein

Maybe it’s too esoteric.

I’ve met teachers, nurses, corporate PR people, stay-at-home moms, the poor, the very rich. I’ve connected with all of them, and sometimes we’ve met and connected again and again. Always someone looking to be seen, like you, I suppose.

Other times, it’s like ships, late at night, the pilots semaphoring to each other to feel a little less lonely, knowing they cannot stop their course, that it is not meant to be. Those brief flashes of light fade into the distant night.

And if you’ve done this, you know it always ends because it can’t continue. It’s a fake, little corner of the world you can have to yourself with someone, if only for a moment.

It’s like we are not supposed to talk to anyone else except who we’re allowed. Yet, I like those deep conversations. But I wish I could hush those other, sick transmissions when I’m engaged. I literally don’t know why I am telling you that.

But here we are, if maybe a passing glance on your phone. I don’t know about you, but I feel it is worth it, however terribly wrong this is.

Like you, I read all the ads, though. People putting themselves out there—it takes a certain bravery to bare all. Even the most boring and plain ones are trying to communicate. That’s worth something; I think responding to ads has its own certain courage. Maybe not as risky as asking someone in person and risking face-to-face rejection, but even here, it’s not ego-free.

So if you’ve read this far, you’re probably wondering what exactly I want. I don’t really know anymore. Clearly, I want more than I have or I wouldn’t be here, but it’s exhausting, these things, you know. All the energy and time to feel a little less lonely, a little more seen just dissipates as if it never happened when these things end. All that motion leaving not a mark, just a memory of what it feels like to feel good and wanted. I hold on to those tightly, but it’s not enough. It never is, is it? That empty spot just wants more.

At this point, you may have stopped reading and possibly even blocked me. This is the smart, sensible choice (I couldn’t agree more) but if you’re not the most sensible person in the world—you’re still here, aren’t you?—then you’re going to understand, I hope, what I can’t seem to put into words.