In my dream last night, I met James for the first time. There was the same excitement, the exuberance that was there the April night six years ago when we did actually meet. But it was a little different. None of any of this had happened, these years, I mean. But I knew. He was the one. I was a teenager again, but without the hesitation or doubt, "Oh, maybe this is the one."
It was solid and clear, "I know. I've found him. We've found each other."
We met at a place called Art Bomb. We love to revisit, but can only go when they have an exhibit and open to the public. One year when we came back there was a photo booth: