I remember a warm summer night.

We were sitting next to a pond, it was dark all around us, but enough to see eachoter. You took two beautiful wine glasses out of that strange basket you had brought with you, together with an expensive bottle of red wine.

That’s when I understood that evening out was meant to be a date.

I looked at my pink sneakers and felt so uncomfortable all of a sudden. A date!

Ixelles was full of life. The air was warm, the frites truck was not that far away and I could hear people chatting an laughing while waiting for their turn. At the same time in that dark corner we were kind of alone.

I remember you explaining how to properly taste wine. “How come we actually met in a beer and whiskey bar?“, I asked you. I tried to rotate the glass the way you were, and ended up spilling some drops on the grass. We laughed and talked. The wine was very good, so was the cheese. I though you were rad. I though it would have been cool to actually feel that, too.

It was a beautiful evening. I remember walking around with you, later on that night, ending up in a live music bar and drinking more wine. I don’t exactly remember how I actually got home.

Nothing happened after that.

Sometimes you still pop up in  my mind with your funny spanish accent though, whenever I try to properly smell wine in a rounded stem glass. I would love to say thank you, but I wouldn’t know how to, and you would think I’m a fool of course.

So that’s apparently how we become part of someone else’s life. In little things, tiny gestures, mostly without knowing it.


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