Madeleine Fawcett’s contribution made me smile –
We were in my hammock when I looked at the socks I was wearing, the ones he had lent me, and told him the words I was so scared to say: “I love you.” The hammock swayed, crickets chirped. “Thanks,” he said, “but I don’t yet.” He pointed at my feet. “Those don’t fit me. Do you want them?” I thought the hammock had tipped, thrown me violently out; he didn’t love me, this was it. But years later, we still lie in my hammock and I still wear those socks. He was right; they are too small for his feet.
Kottke is right about Kristine Murawski’s story — it reads like an extended logline for a movie.
We were online content moderators taking down nude photos. All day, we sorted through thousands of photos and messages flagged as inappropriate on a meet-up app. We sat nearby, but our office had a strict no-talking rule, so our relationship began in silence as we sent each other funny things we found via Gchat. This led to more messaging until one day we grew tired of talking about nudes and decided to see each other naked instead.