For years I thought you were not real. I used to look in trains and crowded streets, trying to find your face, but you were not there. Not in a single bar did I cross by you, not even in the stupid networking events. Not once you appeared on my tinder. You were not in my school, you were not friends of my friends, my promoter was not the same as yours, so how could you be real? I thought I had to go miles and miles away to find you, or at least get someone similar to you. I thought maybe in another continent it would be possible.

 

For days I thought ‘so what? I don’t need anyone’ but then again the idea of you would haunt me, would make me feel I had to keep looking, because what if you really existed? I spent days and nights writing, about a love I did not know. Days and nights thinking and dreaming of the days and nights I was going to spend with you. ‘One day’ I thought. I cried in frustration, I laughed thinking how stupid the whole idea of you was. I wasted my time on dates; I had to look into myself again; I had to learn and grow; I had to be alone…

 

And then when I least expected it, when I was ready to spend the rest of my days with my own self, I saw you.

 

So many years, so many places, so many coincidences, and I did not see you. I tend to think you probably were in Penrose that night in 82nd and 2nd or maybe in the Brother Jimmys at Murray Hill. And maybe you were. Maybe we walked in together, maybe you were in front of me, maybe just maybe the same bartender served the two of us. And I did not see you.

 

But I saw you on that moment, much later, when I was truly ready for you. For you and all the wonderful things that surround you, with your jokes and laughs and with all the bad things as well, but that somehow when they come next to you they don’t seem as bad.