We matched on Tinder and started chatting.
You seemed so cool and equally goofy. Like most Seattleites, the conversation was about our cats and tattoos, and our equal number of cattoos. We joked about getting ink together on our first date while both doing our best to convince the other of how serious we were about the proposition.
It was going to be an amazing date or another complete bust, but we'll never know which because the other day I woke up to dreadful news.
For god knows what reason, Tinder banned me. I know—banned from Tinder? I must have been vulgar or disgusting. I hope not. I don't think I was. Just another idiot in this city trying to fumble their way through dating.
I wish I could tell you that I didn't just un-match you for no reason. Instead, we were unwillingly ripped apart, just like those lovers in that Baz Luhrmann movie. No, not Romeo + Juliet. I was thinking Moulin Rouge.
Crying about this because I'm a pisces.
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