It was late and I was hustling for money at work, the usual mixture of preoccupied, tired and bored. I brushed passed you and thought nothing. And then double took.

The intricate pattern on your top stopped me in my tracks, I liked it. Quite simply I liked the pattern on your top. So I told you I liked it and then walked away and thought nothing.

When you came back and started talking to me I thought ‘Oh here we go…’ And then you said some things and I thought you were a bit of an idiot. It seems harsh now, but I did.

Anyone attempting sincerity whilst talking through booze late at night in a club is a bit of an idiot.

You asked for my number, in true style. I said no. But came back with a business card, in true style.

You were persistent. I was careless.

And I wrote my real number on the back of the card.

All this, seems like someone else’s story now, not ours…but I guess we were different people then.

We were more scared, more superficial. We joined in, in the “London experience” with less awareness, less satirical knowing…The kind that comes from the great pleasure of giving up.

How strange that game was, that came crashing down so quickly when we stared sighing satisfied matter, at the crack in the ceiling of an old house in North London. And we started to just know. Just know each other.

How sweet the truth was, that we could stop the world together just by the meeting of our palms. All the showing off, the fight, the relentless poverty and problems that stopped. When you’re body pressed onto mine.

How your idiot and my careless fell in line, to a place of warmth and refine.

A meeting of hungry philosophical minds, destined to float off into the unimagined, the bold adventure; to set sail.

No wonder then that when we tried to conform to relationship norms, we spectacularly failed.

Because you're free. And I’m free. The space we require a boundless sea.

But yet please know and carry on your unique travels, always this:

Our love is no less true on Earth than it is in abstract physics.