She gleamed in white and red, said I viewed you once, messaged twice He climbed the keys to create sentences, then paragraph mountains of white snow. Purple square thumbnails, got a text, a retweet, a future sext. She liked his hair in his face like riff raff. She stared, scared that she lost truth last summer. She looked for it in mini-skirts, teal eye liner, Murakami novels. He searched her two inch boxes: I’m here, alive. Thighs parted within 50 miles. Hair swept up within 25 miles. College educated or not. Pets or not. Chalk up dough. Smile. Close eyes behind mirrors and microwave doors and team banners. Bathing suits. White water rafts. Roman ruins. She looks for her care-free, spinning around in a circle, looking for itself. It is urban planning through Under Armor tee shirts and tuxedos but she lost the map.