We sat outside on the splintered bench in the cool Ithaca breeze. Flames from the dying candles lit your face. I wanted to hold you, rest my own heavy blonde curls on the exposed chest. I was a soul longing for connection, grace, peace. You were a successful millionaire craving for just one person to see beyond your fortune and into your needs, passions, fears. We knew God was there in that moment, our souls intertwining, despite our physical bodies keeping a safe distance. Timing. It truly does always come down to that little second hand and where it is in the sequence of your life. After a silent walk through the drunken crowd of the festival to my hotel, your sparkly sensitive eyes looked one last time into mine. They said everything I needed to know. I walked down the rusty boardwalk to my room, never turning around to see if you were still there.