It was dark and secretive, mystery dwelling in the twinkling sky, the night I met him.
Or, rather, the night I found him.
The night we found each other.

I hadn’t been able to fall asleep, and I wasn’t the only one who was still awake in the dead, as well as life, of night. I tossed and turned in my queen-sized bed; residing in a room that looked like it was a bedchamber in a fancy hotel. Though, in reality, I wasn’t staying in a hotel at all.

I was residing in somebody’s house, or mansion, if you will.

As I look back on it all, in spite of everything, that seems to be the least significant detail in my memory. That is, when I compared it to what I discovered in my stay at the upscale yet old-fashioned dwelling.
For where you go on this journey called life is far less important than whom you meet while living it.
That was one thing I learned that summer, as well as more than I could’ve ever imagined in my wildest dreams.