There was an understated coolness about you.  Much to my surprise, you weren’t surrounded by girls or friends.  I can’t remember who approached whom, but I do remember laughing a lot and the seductive stares that lasted a fraction too long to account for polite company.  We went bar-hopping around my favourite places in Brighton; I felt I was giving you a local’s guided tour of a brilliant Friday night in Brighton.

We had a platonic sleepover.  I learnt your exotic (yet poignantly appropriate) name, where you had been travelling, where you were off to next, your hobbies, your quirks, your habits.  We shared so much in our evening together and we chatted in the way friends who haven’t seen each other in ages do.  Clearly, we both needed the intimacy of pillow talk.

By mid-morning, it was time for you to go.  I drove you back to your hotel where you packed up and headed onwards around Europe.

Photo by Rose Butler on Unsplash.