It's a modern-day love story. You swiped right, I swiped right. My screen froze for a second. It's a match!

I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was the Kurt Vonnegut quote in your bio that caught my attention. Maybe I wanted to see if your face was as cute in person as it looked in pictures (once the pandemic was over).

Why did you swipe? Are you a serial swiper, continuously swiping right until you run out of likes? Did you only swipe because you thought I was attainable? Regardless, we matched, and you slid into the DMs.

"Are you ready to be impressed and disappointed at the same time?" you asked. I know you're just being funny, but the truth is that I always am.

Then comes the inevitable: "Why are you on here?" Well, I jokingly made my Tinder profile in study hall with my friend when we had nothing else to entertain us. I answer your question honestly: "I don't know." You say that's OK, you don't really know what you're looking for either.

We both should probably figure that out. Maybe it's just validation, or maybe we're seeking emotional connection in a world that seems even scarier than usual right now. But we both let the topic slide because there's a certain comfort in not knowing.

And so it goes. We joke and flirt until one of us falls asleep. Maybe the next day we do it again. We repeat this for a couple of days, possibly even a couple of weeks. You recommend some songs to me, nothing that I haven't heard before. In fact, you don't say a lot that I haven't heard before.

We talk about meeting up once social distancing is no longer necessary.

But before that can happen, it gets monotonous. As you text me good morning for the fifteenth time, I feel the boredom creeping up. We are running out of things to talk about and don't have anything in common besides a short attention span. I feel guilty and wonder if you feel the same, but I can't ask you that.

So I just start replying slower and slower. You take the hint, unless you're someone especially persistent, in which case you probably start double or even triple texting. I apologize because I know that you deserve more direct communication, but I can't help it.

Anyway, it wasn't long until you were a fuzzy, whimsical memory. I hope that you find what you're looking for (even if you still don't know what that is).

I'm truly grateful for every single unfulfilling interaction and conversation that ultimately reminded me why it's better, maybe even necessary, to meet people organically. Maybe learning that lesson is what I was on Tinder for. And I couldn't have done that without you.

So, to all the Tinder boys I've dropped before: thank you.

This open letter is not directed at any one person, it's simply a collection of experiences.

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