Dating Deju Vu

Hold up, have we met? I’m having crazy déjà vu. Wait, it’s coming back now. I think we connected on one of those dating sites? I can’t place my finger on which one, but it could have been Tinder—no Bumble, or was it Or the League, or E-harmony, or Zoosk, or it could have been OKCupid or Badoo, but I seriously doubt we met on JustAskMeOut, and you kind of remind me of someone I kissed on Crush Zone or MyLOL or this one crazy night that’s all a big blur with someone I met on that site Campus Flirts, or maybe we met on SilverSingles since I’m beginning to go gray, or it could have been Stich, but not Christian Mingle or that site Catholic Singles since I tend swing best with secular people, or maybe we met during my trial pass on JDate or Dharma Match, or perhaps it was BeNaughty or Adult Friend Finder, and I briefly cruised Grinder since the nights can get lonely and I often get horny and more than a little confused. I tried Sugar Daddy Meet but lacked enough green since I was broke and needed a job. I signed up for and now my sugars all gone but I didn’t have that much sugar to start. We could have connected on SoulGeek or LoveByrd since I love me a nerd, but all of those rendezvous flopped. I gave Trek Dating a try but went home to an episode of Deep Space 69, thank god for the internet, right? I signed up on Dating for Muggles and one site for Juggalos, but I don’t think I know you from there. Or, maybe—no, wait. I remember you now. I had thought it was fate when we matched on BronyMate, that dating site for My Little Pony fans. We planned a romantic evening at Tony’s Linguine, but you turned out to be a no-show. I prayed you were just late and not kidnapped or bit by a snake because you couldn’t have just flaked because it sure as hell seemed we had good chemistry, but then again, maybe I read you all wrong; since, after all, you never returned my texts or one my calls, nor my emails or messages I left on your phone, or my IMs or AIMs, nor my letters or serenades, or the handwritten notes that I left on your windows, I even checked the obituaries and called all the hospitals, but I can take the hint and know when I’m not wanted, so I gave up all hope and wrote you off as a loss and tried not to think of you when alone with my thoughts, and I canceled my accounts to each dating site and developed an addiction to anti-depressants, but that didn’t help, I still felt the same, your profile remained beautiful and branded in the meat of my brain, so I dabbled in uppers and downers and smack and popped pills but your profile picture shined brighter than ever, then my body shut down, I could no longer move, I cut off the world and remained alone in my room for fifty-two days and suffered despair and couldn’t stomach a bite except for one Ranch flavored corn nut and those two to three Cliff Bars and that one slice of cheese cake that was a little too old, since I’ve never been wasteful I just cut off the mold, and I drank bottom shelf vodka straight from the bottle and peed into jars when my bladder was full and curled under the covers and lost forty pounds and all of my friends and my caramel complexion turned to a yellowish custard. The pickle cannery canned me for not showing up and Foster Freeze fired me shortly thereafter, and I sold my possessions until I had nothing, and the landlord he booted me onto the streets where I slept in gutters and crawled through the sewers and battled with rats the size of small islands, and I gnawed on the moss at the base of small trees while broken bottles and branches punctured my knees, and I pounded my chest and survived on young grubs—a good source of protein—and I grew out my beard and pulled out my hair and howled at the darkness until my voice box erupted, then I vomited blood and fell in a cactus and sobbed to earth and the earth turned to mud, I rubbed mud in my eyes until I went blind, but now I can see and my vision is perfect, and I remember you now and can picture you clearly, you’re alive in my mind and I hope that you’re happy and doing just fine, because I’m totally fine and don’t hold you to blame for draining the serotonin straight from my brain and ruining my life that was really quite nice, when all it’d have taken was one simple text or one measly call to say plans had changed and that you had moved on to some greener pasture and weren’t dead in a dumpster, and I’d been totally cool, I’m a reasonable guy, and did I already mention that I’m doing just fine? and I think that I might try dating again and create a new profile on Tinder or Bumble or introduce myself to a friend of a friend, since I’m not photogenic in a digital sense, and my smile beams brighter than it does on my profile, and if you had just come to Tony’s things might have been different, since we had only talked with our thumbs instead of our bodies, but, anyways, like I said, I’m doing just fine, and I hope that you’re happy, and if you ever get lonely or hungry or want to do something, text me or whatever and we can go grab some Tony’s.