I have always been a sucker for chance encounters. Those that happen on days where everything is mundane, and where you really are not expecting anything. All of a sudden, some stranger walks up to you, starts a conversation and turns your day a little bit less dreary than it usually is. I’ve had a few of those in the past but this most recent one, happened on a cold Wednesday night in New York, made a lasting impression.
All I wanted to do was lose myself for one night in a place where nobody recognizes me and nobody gives a fuck about what I do. And I did, not in a drunk, lifeless, self-destructing way, but in a beautiful, romantic kind of way that makes you want to surrender everything to fate. The feeling was liberating. It was just unforgettable. I still smile at the memory because it just keeps popping whether I’m in the bus on the way to work, in the office while I’m busy reconciling financial whatnots, or even in the middle of a conversation with my boss.
The thing with encounters like this is that they are only meant to be brief. There’s no aftermath. No epilogue. Just one moment. And you only get to hold on to that memory for as long as you can because sooner or later, you’re going to forget and you carry on with your mundane life again and you wait until another wonderful encounter happens.
