It was snowing. Those great big white flakes that lie heavily on each individual tree limb and etch their form against a steel grey sky. You were a gentleman. And I, I was at ease with you like I have not been with any man in years. We talked while the snow swirled outside, oblivious to the storm. A cup of coffee snuggled between my hands and the width of a couch between us, but the warmth of a smile bringing us closer.
We walked slowly through the snow and I showed you the changes in the landscape since you had been here last. I’m not sure how much of it you actually took in, but I know you did not miss a smile or a single stolen glance. You were complimentary and inquisitive and I wanted to take your arm as we strolled through the freshly fallen snow, but I demurred. Unsure of how the touch of my hand on your arm would be received, I put the thought out of my mind and we continued on.
In a dimly lit pub, almost as old as the city itself you shared bits and pieces of your life with me over drinks and lunch. Surrounded by rough-hewn wood beams and fieldstone walls you opened up to me. Soon our time together drew to a close as the commitments of real life pressed down on us, and our stolen moment was savoured for just a few minutes longer.
We promised to meet again soon and as I walked off alone into the falling snow I knew it would never quite be the same as those few borrowed hours.
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