I'm sure you've met this guy.

Here's what happens. He's gazed at your profile, wrote you a lovely note, you responded and then…

He writes again, you answer, numbers are exchanged, calls are made.
The laughs are easy and frequent, the overlaps of interests, ethics, dreams and schemes unparalleled and the enthusiasm builds. "I'll call you, write you, text you as to where and when we should have our first (and hopefully) last date," he says.

This is apparently when the chains, trunks and water tanks must arrive.  For,
inexplicably, eerily and mind bogglingly, nary a future word. Poof, gone.

So the only logical explanation has to be that they, alas, failed to wiggle
their way from the confines of their shackles, are still picking the lock, or have moved from this trunk into, yet, another box of some sort.

Perhaps, he will resurface, flush with the experience and ready with the explanations of why the disappearance.

More likely, not.

So, with a giggle and a shrug it's back to the online search.

In the meanwhile, wondering if someday when purchasing that container of milk I will see his smiling face on the side of the carton.