It was dark and secretive, mystery dwelling in the twinkling sky, the night I met him.
Or, rather, the night I found him. The night we found each other.
I hadn’t been able to fall asleep, and I wasn’t
the only one who was still awake in the dead as well as the life, of night.
I tossed and turned in my queen-sized bed in a room that looked like it was a bedchamber in a fancy hotel.
Though, in reality, I wasn’t staying in a hotel at all.
I was residing in somebody’s house, or mansion, if you will.
But that was far beside the point.
In truth, as I look back on it all, that seems to be the least significant detail in my memory compared to what I discovered in my stay at that upscale yet old-fashioned, dwelling.
For where you go on this journey called life is far less important than who you meet while living it.
That was one thing I learned that summer, as well as more than I could’ve ever imagined in my wildest dreams.