Like-love Take 2

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Fireworks are going off.  Every bang more spectacular and grand than the other, and then, always unexpectedly, it ceases.  You stand there in the middle, on some urban hill not far from your apartment, watching the multicoloured light soften the darkness of the skies, and then fade into them, blown away by the wind.

Something about the boy drew you to walk towards him and ask him about his life.  It could have been his tranquility that seems to have an immediate calming effect on your overactive brain.  It could have been the night itself, or the bottle of sparking wine you shared,  you’re unsure, but something made you walk towards him with certainty that it is what needs to be done.  You stand next to him, by the fence, watching the sky grow darker, behind the city buildings.  ”Tomorrow we’ll see pictures of the fireworks in the papers, and they will look nothing like what we saw today,” you tell him to strike up a conversation.  He says something, you’re not sure what it was anymore, you haven’t memorised it.  He gets closer and tells you how about what he did four years ago, he tells you about the books he reads and the music he listens to, he speaks about how sad he was last year this time, he tells you how sometimes feels so young, and then so old.  It makes no sense.  You relate.  He starts telling you how he turned twenty-seven a few months ago.  You both realise you share the same birthday, and laugh at the coincidence, wondering which one of you is lying.  He asks you if your view of the world is based on science or magic, and something about that question softens your cynicism briefly, while you ask him to explain what magic is.

You decide to cut the conversation short and head back, your friends are waiting on you on, and they must be cold, so you head to a bar.  There, you have tequila and whisky, until one of them is too sick to go on with the night, and so you go back to your place, make the bed for him and your common friend to sleep on and say goodnight.  You go to bed alone, with a sense of sadness that as alcohol evaporates from your bodies, so will the moment and the certain sense of connection you shared the night before.

Morning comes, you walk over to your kitchen.  He comes down, and you talk. You decide to head out for a walk, just him and you.  The banks of the Thames are almost overflowing.   You walk across the Tower Bridge.   It’s raining heavily and your feet get wet.  You decide to stop for coffee.  It strikes you how comfortable you are sharing random thoughts and being in silence with him.  Night comes, and you walk to London Bridge where you part ways, he to take his train, you to meet a friend for dinner.  You say goodbye, and as you turn around and start to walk, he shouts ”Hey…If you ever feel like coming up North for a trip, let me know.”  Two weeks later, you go.

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