A perfect moment

I was sitting at the bar, sipping a glass of rose. I always arrived before him. He touched me on the shoulder and kissed me on the cheek. In that moment, I felt a sense of familiarity towards him, like we were a husband and wife greeting each other after work.

His beer was served, and he asked if I wanted to try some. I said yes, and he laughed and said “there’s something very different about you. I like it.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “I’ve been called quirky before.”

“Some people would definitely think you’re strange though.”

We continued our easy chatter. He was a man who made banter look easy.

“I feel very comfortable with you,” he said, the corners of his mouth upturned, crinkles in the corners of his eyes.

“I have that effect on people.”

As we sat there in the darkened bar, drinking wine and discussing existentialism in the lyrics of Talking Heads, we smiled with our eyes only on each other. It was one of those perfect moments that I thought only existed in films.

He asked me then, if I was definitely moving to New York. I said, I wasn’t sure anymore.

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