We had met on a sleepy, Sunday afternoon, at an Espresso Bar in Old Montreal. It was the kind of day that you don't want to leave your place, or even get out of bed. But the loneliness, creeps in, the day lingers on and you leave so you can find someone to bring home. I was sitting at a corner table, writing words that didn't connect, wondering where the missing piece of the puzzle, to my sunken love life had gone. He was at the table beside me, sketching birds flying across the sky in unison, in a shape that resembled a heart. He had sandy brown hair that he pulled away from his face, only for it to fall back within seconds. His eyes were blue and he had a cleft in his chin that I wanted to nibble. He felt my eyes upon him. We struck up a conversation. He showed me his art, I showed him my words. We didn't ask one another's names. Who cares about a name. We knew we would be leaving together. He held my hand from under the table, stroking his fingers across the ...
