You: tall, attractive, slender, well dressed, long haired brunette, with blue eyes. I saw you at the Opera in May 2003. You were with what appeared to be your younger sister. It was Rossini's L'italiana in Algeri. In addition to your simple but elegant dress I could see you had discriminating taste for shoes, they appeared to be Via Spiga. I liked the fact that your beauty shined from the inside, that though attractive you did not flaunt it. What really struck me though were your eyes, the proverbial "window to the soul," it was obvious that your waters run deep. You had a composed and curious intelligence. I could just barely overhear fragments of your conversation. You were bi-lingual in Italian.
I was the tall, handsome man in the blue suit, sipping champagne with a good girlfriend (whose husband does not enjoy opera), she was the one to notice you first, exclaiming, "now she is your type."
It is strange how fate/circumstance plays such a large role in our lives. I could tell intuitively in those few minutes that we had the potential to live an amazing life together. It was both chemical and visceral. And I know if we had encountered each other for the first time at a friends small dinner party that potential would have a great chance of being realized. Yet though you glanced at me a couple of times I realized how socially awkward it would have been for me to barge in on your evening with your sister. Plus I would never have guessed you could be single.
A year and a half later (June 2004) I saw you again, this time on top of Yosemite's Half Dome. You as were radiant and the brilliant California sunshine showed off the auburn highlights of your hair that were not visible in the incandescent glow of the chandeliers the last time I saw you. You were with a guy that appeared (by your body language) to be a good friend. You were as natural in this environment as the swallows playfully darting around us. I had just finished a consulting project and was thinking how nice it would be to backpack the John Muir trail or go hut to hut hiking in the Dolomites with you.
Twenty one years later I saw you again (Sept. 2025) You were writing in your journal in the garden of the Rodin Museum in Paris. The momentary cardiac arrhythmia you induced in me was just as profound as the first time I saw you. I was amazed- you must have been around 28 back in 2003 now near fifty you were even more attractive than when I first saw you. I love the way you still wore your hair long, and the gray that has mostly replaced the brunette frames your eyes perfectly. I looked for a wedding band and did not see one, and again you were so peaceful sitting there alone I could not bring myself to disturb you. I reflected that though I loved being an uncle and had always wanted to be a father I had not met someone like you, and was not willing to settle for having a family with a woman that I liked but was not head over heels in love with. I have been very fortunate in life: healthy, intelligent, professionally accomplished, well traveled, but how much I would have enjoyed sharing all of that with you.