I am new to the cite. This is a sliggtly different type of post. Please humour the lunacy.

A few years ago I was on a boat from Sevillia to North Africa and I met the most amazing German boy. We met in the first 10 mins of the journey by accident and spent the entire crossing sitting side by side on the upper deck. We talked endlessly, oblivious to the world. Both of us had girlfriends at home. But in that space of time, we were alone in the universe, immote, immortal. We spent a few days together on the coast. He intorduced me to this bizzare German writer that I'd not heared of before in my conformist, conventional schooling, Hesse. At dusk, when the smell of the fresh bread was intoxicatingly carressing the walls of the souks and narrow passage ways, making its way up into our courtyard, he would read passages from Steppenwolf to me. It was in German and I could not understand a word but I felt every syllable.
I left to return to mainland Europe and you ventured on down the Morrocan coast. I dared to bore everybody on this site just in case you should come to visit it in a serendipitous act of fortune. I am sorry I did not get in contact. I was so foolishly sacred of myself and of you, that I tore the paper with all your details and scattered them to the sea on my return journey. I have now read almost every Hesse novel. My Goldmund. I loved you too.
Be well.