Looking for a strange but pretty girl to tangle my roots with. Eventually, let me swallow you like a fly trap. Must be into poetry, like NB boytoys and listen to my late-night ramblings. I am not a romantic, but pls let me bring you the weirdest flowers on dates. I can cook you the best curry. We can have a beer together in the park. Let’s pot ourselves in a ceramic cup, forever.

@immodestmimosapudica

Me: femme princess, out of bounds thinker, with a 245TB storage capacity for love. You: sexy, can teach me the unknown languages of the hardware, preferably outside the binary. Let me guess the password to your heart’s network. I am kind of shy, but absolutely down to reach the deepest crevices of your software. Let’s be some metafreaks together.

@digitallyangelic

***

@digitallyangelic joined Bucharest for the first time!

A cluster of grey pixels is loading the avatar of the newcomer. The room is dimly lit, filled with occasional glass clinks SFX paired with a murmuring house track in the background. It appears to be some sort of bar, packed with avatars of all types. Digitallyangelic has finally loaded. She is wearing a long, tight black dress. It’s one of the cosmetics featured in this year’s fall bundle. Probably she bought it for this exact occasion. Her phone buzzes, it’s immodestmimosapudica. They tell her to meet outside the venue. She is now already heading towards the door.

Immodestmimosapudica says how grateful they are for her visit. Digitallyangelic smiles, saying it’s her pleasure after all this time. She’s never really been able to join new servers, all because of real-life responsibilities and such. That shouldn’t be of great importance, as she’s finally here.

***

Digital hangouts tend to be a wild mix of aesthetics, reminiscent of different eras, kind of like a reinvented myspace. Each wall is plastered with memes, gifs, artwork, or just any piece of media coming from the most unexpected corners of the internet. Everything and nothing is out of place. The cyber ecosystem thrives on medley.

Digitallyangelic and immodestmimosapudica represent just another collage of avatars built on strings of text. This place soon becomes their default meeting spot. They prefer it exactly because of its atemporality and nonconformity. They can spend time talking for hours, playing music, watching films and doing whatever. They engage with other users when it comes to events, though it’s not a big majority of their time. It’s still something that draws them closer, in

intimate spaces, seeking the comfort of closeness.

They don’t even realise how soon they will come to become more and more fond of each other. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, sure, dancing together at one of the biggest festivals in Bucharest simply made them realise how much excitement they bring to each other’s lives. Some techno playing in the background, infinite waves of moving people, thick clouds of smoke and the soul-piercing vibrations of the bass, Mimosa couldn’t help but ask the girl the big question.

***

A girl is on a dating app, apparently swiping left on every profile. She’s quickly getting bored. It cuts to the next frame, which reads “TIRED OF INFINITE, INEFFECTIVE AND UNEXCITING DATING APPS? JOIN BUCHAREST NOW!” The screen changes to a video of an in-game exploration of the place, showing the most popular hanging spots, “HERE, OUR AI PAIRS YOU WITH THE PERSON OF YOUR DREAMS! ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS LET THE ALGORITHM MATCH YOU, SCHEDULE A DATE AND SHOW UP! IT IS 99% ACCURATE IN ITS MATCHES!” Now, a video of various couples plays, showing them being affectionate. A big “JOIN NOW!” pulsates on the bottom half of the screen. 

In the very top of the page, on an uninteresting strip of grey, a small text reads “it’s fast, easy and almost always faultproof, even if you were to be a total asshole, the AI would pair you up with someone just like you. Trust it. It’s trained to please you.”

***

Even just sitting next to Mimosa is a blessing to Angelic. Hearing their breathing in the mic

whenever they’d forget it on is the most wonderful thing, she thought. Or the occasional pictures

of her cat, they’d send her. Those would be scrutinised down to the greatest detail, for the girl was always hungry to capture every possible detail of her partner’s life. They really love drinking tea, collecting pizza boxes to make sure they are recycled correctly, buying crochet things and finally, for whatever reason, eating chocolate quite often. She’s even memorized her partner’s schedule, based on some of the things they’d mention. Angelic has this obsession with mentally reconstructing the life of the other. It gives her a sense of intimacy and paints an even clearer image of her partner’s place that harbours all her fantasies. Strange, indeed, it gives her a sort of high to figure out these things on her own. Though she rarely sends pictures back, not because of secrecy, she’s interested in anything but that, but because she thinks she’s boring—she’s allergic to most pets and doesn’t like plants either. Which is odd, at least Mimosa says, regarding the plant part, obviously. These drastic differences seem to clash; how can someone be matched with someone who hates the other’s core interest? Does this count as ingenuine advertising?

***

Before sleeping, Angelic’s mind wanders and finds itself in faraway places. Mostly, Mimosa’s

bedroom. Obsessively. It’s awful… staring at the cold, darkened ceiling, only lit up by the

occasional headlights of a passing car. She’s cold, the body is craving to be swiftly opened by knowing hands. Her components are growing old; she needs replacement, and only one has the

right screwdriver for her case’s bolts. She likes it better when it’s slow; taking time is never

boring, but she’s shy. Open, raw, pulsating, all components are exposed and sensitive. They all look photoluminescent, glimmering with loneliness. It’s an invitation to be handled, numerous vines to crawl inside, to wrap themselves tightly. May green slowly knit itself over that pool of silver, like weeds on abandoned buildings in a wet climate. She dreams of planted seeds on top of her motherboard, growing big, becoming a garden, and hardware overheating. Her heart is leaking cooling fluid, and the little seedlings suck it up, every single drop. The heat of her system helps their photosynthesis, they grow bigger and bigger and lush, flowering in all colors. Oh, to be devoured by plants. Lastly, the bsod hits, and she drifts off to sleep.

***

This place doesn’t function by daytime logic; everyone is online at night. You barely see

anything happen before 8:00. If you find yourself logged on too early, you would be surrounded by a few avatars, probably just loitering awkwardly. Almost criminal. Work is real-world stuff, tiring to most, just something to afford a roof over your head. This place isn’t meant to be quiet; you always hear the bass of some nearby party, or the laughter of a group getting drunk on beer. You are never alone, which is comforting to many who find themselves here. The point is to never be alone, after all, the dating pool is huge, they promise, it’s what brings most people here, anyway. And this proves to be truthful—you see couples of all genders cheerfully spend their time together, mingling their data.

The most popular party venues are the jacuzzi club and the concert rooftop. Both are self-explanatory and rather cliché to all socializing games, but people still choose to visit these places nonetheless. Most fights are petty here. Usually, it’s either because of jealousy or some people who think they’re funny, sticking their nose up in others’ businesses. Recklessness is at home in a place where you can disappear at any given time.

***

It’s usually Mimosa that joins first, waiting for the other. They’ve been here for a while, for longer than most. They’ve seen most of it, they’ve been through the most, knowing all Bucharest has to offer. They like it, it offers infinite possibilities, one is always in the proximity of a cool another. Though for as much as they enjoy their current lifestyle, there’s this tiny piece of them that kind of longs for something else. Hmm.

Angelic joins. She hits the wave emote twice, impatiently. She’s relieved to finally be back on here. In the back of her mind, a tiny amount of shame blooms quietly; she’s ashamed of moving most of her social interactions online. It’s not that she is completely bad at socializing in real life. It’s just that it’s more convenient this way. After long work hours, who has the energy to go out at night, anyway? And getting ready to go to a mid-event is just not worth the hassle. Plus, there are more chances to meet someone like you online, just as she met Mimosa. The love of your life can be just two clicks away.

***

Mimosa approaches the girl; they’re in the park with a lake, the purple moon shimmering on the surface. They briefly talk about their day, what they’ve done, and how life passes by. There’s a distinct heaviness surrounding them. Truth be told, the place is emptier than usual—there is nobody playing music in the distance, almost no cars with party people passing by. Angelic looks at the person in front of her, noticing the unusually aloof look on their face. She doesn’t ask them anything; maybe they’re just tired. Or maybe not, there definitely is something going on. But before she could even open the mic to say something, “This place suffocates me. All people do is simulate something. Nothing on here is real, not even you. It’s become normal for people to half-ass relationships; convenience is the death of us. I’m done.” And without wasting a single second, they log off. Angelic is left there, staring at the space on the monitor Mimosa’s avatar filled. Soon she logs off, too, feeling the extremities of her real body growing colder and colder.

***

Looking at the ceiling, again, Angelic is left to wonder what could have possibly actually happened. Is it her fault? No, she’s done nothing bad. She’s been quite amazing, actually, always attentive and caring. She’s not half-assing anything. And she’s pretty sure she’s real, she feels her heartbeat in her left ribs and the warmth of her bed on her skin. She is indeed real. Could it be that she’s never made the effort to go and meet Mimosa? I mean, it’s not as if they have mentioned wanting that. It’s basically the norm to be e-dating anyway, with the available technology that seems to accommodate most needs. Sure, you need to spend a dime to make it as real as possible, but it’s become practically impossible to meet people you would actually be into organically and in your proximity. Everyone happy has a long-distance relationship. And intimacy is the least of one’s worries. Then, why would they say that? Angelic puts a lot of emotion into this connection; they know a lot about each other. She’s really, really confused. And Mimosa isn’t answering her texts, either.

***

Pocket candy dopamine desensitizes the brain; instant gratification is needed obsessively. Everything is in reach, no more stretching over to the other riverbank to finally fulfil that need. Meeting new people right from inside your bed eases life a lot more. No more insecurities, no more anxiety, you hide your face behind a screen, looks don’t matter after all. Never judge a book by its cover, no? Plus, when a relationship with someone doesn’t work anymore, the unfriend button is two clicks away. Say goodbye to that person forever; you will pass each other on the street, unaware of your shared bit of history. This all seems distressing; communities become ghosts and haunt the internet.

***

“Sorry for ghosting you. I needed time for myself, haha. Let’s take this all to a different place. I want to see you. Call me asap.”