I was the kid who never asked. Too scared the answer would shatter me—pretty girls laughing, me staring at my shoes, heart pounding like it’d never slow. High school? I skipped every dance. Homecoming lights glowing, music thumping, me at home pretending the silence was fine.

Then I got on the rails. Not chasing anything—just because sitting still felt worse. Trains rocking through fog, windows like breath I couldn’t share, mountains blurring green. I rode till the world felt bigger than my fear.

Four days before inauguration—January 16, 2025—I detoured to New York. Alone. Walked into Serendipity 3, that old movie spot where fate plays pranks—like John gets a fake obituary, then wakes up anyway. Ordered the frozen hot chocolate—towering, ridiculous, whipped cream swirling like snow. Sat under the clock, spoon clinking, strangers chatting around me.

I wasn’t there for the drink. I was hunting movie magic—that dumb, hopeful idea that if I sat where they sat, sipped what they sipped, maybe life would bend. Like the film: two people meet by accident, share dessert, and suddenly the room feels smaller. I laughed at myself—solo guy in a tourist trap—but the cold chocolate hit sweet, and something loosened. “Maybe,” I thought. “Maybe impossible’s just another word for ‘not yet.’”

That sip? It carried me to D.C. Thirteen hours numb outside Capital One Arena, pullover hoodie on, cold biting deep. Five words shouted. America turned—pointed, waved—live on TV.

But here’s what I never said: I wasn’t looking for you that night. I was just… open. Like if fate wanted to sit down—maybe across from me, maybe over whipped cream, maybe after a long train ride—I’d let it. No script. No plan. Just “hey.”

Everyday life? It’s all serendipity—a smile you almost return, a “hey” you almost say. And yeah—somebody will want the story. The kid who froze. The guy who rode. The one who shouted.

So if you’re out there—maybe rereading this late, maybe feeling that same quiet pull—know this:

The right woman? She’ll feel it. In her chest. Like the train slows, doors hiss, and she steps off—not because I asked, but because she wants to. And when she does—when her timing lines up, when she finally types “hey”—I’m ready.

Not the shy kid anymore. Not the one who froze. Just the man behind the heart—open, steady, still waiting.

Because if I can get the President and First Lady to turn… maybe you’ll turn too.

And if you do?

I’ll be right here—with a spoon, a smile, and no rush.

Email me: weloveyoumrpresident@gmail.com

Listen to the video below. In this crazy world I still believe in Serendipity. That if you keep showing love out loud the right people will find you when fate aligns