Discovering the Heart of Human Connection: A Personal Reflection

Stories of Awkward Love, Silent Longing, and Elevator Kisses

This morning, on my way to the office, I saw them again.

Eyes - too small, too sunken, as if trying to hide inside themselves.

Jaws that jut forward like explorers who took a wrong turn. But smiles - big, full, proud - like children showing off a lost tooth.

They come in a little pack from their center toward the bus stop - three couples. I can't guess their ages because their faces don't really tell you.

You always imagine them as old souls stuck in young, clumsy bodies with the unfiltered behavior of toddlers.

And sometimes, in the way their jaws drift away from where anatomy intended, you get a quiet whisper in your ear:

"Maybe you missed something by growing up 'normal."

Maybe you lost that beautiful, reckless flexibility - something that could have served your supposedly normal, polished, and very sexual needs.

(Yes, very sexual.) Let's be honest - even normal people have some weird searches in their browser history.

But that's a thought that sneaks in and leaves just as fast, embarrassed by itself. Because the important, the truly stunning thing about them, is their directness.

She stands in front of him, face glowing, and says, grinning:

"You're such a baby!"

He teases her back - taps her small nose (tiny, really, like a button sewn onto a too-large coat)-and pulls her into a hug. Their friends giggle, tittering in a way that fills the air without asking permission. The world around them stays silent, because really - what can you say to a group of "retards"?

Yeah, the word feels dirty in your mouth. Don't worry, it should…

Every day I tell myself, Break the ice. Say hello.

And every day I don't.

Not because of them - because of me.

Because of my sewer of a mouth, always ready to throw out a sharp joke they wouldn't understand or a clever comment that would land like a brick on glass.

One wrong word, and I'd watch that light in their eyes - that honest, fearless light - shrink back into mistrust.

I can't do that to them.

So I stay where I am, smiling from a distance.

Jealous.

Because our normal courting rituals are about as fun as pulling teeth with a wet spoon.

I once knew a woman - much too smart for her own good and way too beautiful for mine - who showed some interest in me. We worked in the same office. In the corridors, in the company kitchen, at every meeting - she was cold, even hostile.

If her body language could talk, it would scream, "You? Really? Please evaporate."

But through the company's internal email system?

Blazing fire.

She would send me little messages like: 

"You left your coffee mug on my desk. Is this your way of marking territory?"

Or:

"If you're going to keep coming into my office, at least bring chocolate.

And then the real gem:

"By the way, I wore that dress today because I know you like that color. But don't get ideas…"

All while I stood literally right there in her office, chatting with her coworkers, pretending not to notice the frantic clacking of her keyboard behind me.

She wouldn't even look up.

It was like we were playing some twisted, anonymous courtship game where the first person to admit to reality loses.

I didn't get it, of course.

It was a kind of internet courtship, I guess.

And me?

I didn't even know I was in the game.

I thought I was just losing at life in general - turns out, I was also losing at love.

And if that wasn't enough, there was another one - another little flash of something resembling human connection, if you squinted hard enough.

Her name? Let's call her Mia.

Was that her real name? Honestly, at this point, if someone told me it was Bob, I wouldn't argue.

Mia and I had a different style.

No emails. No cold shoulders.

Just one day, out of nowhere, we ended up in the elevator together - just the two of us… (we could make it if we try..Sing it. 😉)

I pressed the button. She looked at me.

I looked at her.

And then, with the logic of a drunk pigeon, we kissed.

It wasn't romantic, not even a little.

It was desperate and clumsy and tasted faintly of the cheap coffee the company proudly called "gourmet."

Maybe it lasted one minute.

Maybe it lasted only ten seconds, and my lonely brain stretched it into a cinematic masterpiece.

Either way, when the elevator dinged at the next floor, we pulled apart like guilty teenagers and walked out without a word.

Never mentioned it again.

Not once.

That, too, apparently, is a kind of courtship.

Where do we really live, anyway?

In the blunt sweetness of those bus stop hugs?

In the electric silence of email flirtations?

In a minute, stolen behind silver elevator doors?

Or maybe we don't live anywhere real at all - just in the gaps between moments, wishing we were brave enough to stay inside them.