Thinking, always thinking

So far no sign of the gentleman I met at Daft Friday. But now I think about it, I'm not entirely sure I want to find him again. What if it turns out he smokes, or chews with his mouth open, or swears every second word? I think it's much safer to just keep him as a happy memory in my head, to pull out whenever I start to feel like the most unattractive person in the world.

xXx

Oh, dear

I don't know how you do it but you've got into my head again. A memory I'd completely forgotten until now - the first time I remember really seeing you.  

 It was a baptism or a dedication at that church near Mum and Dad's house, and you were recording it. I finally worked up the courage to walk in, then realised that I didn't recognise a single person there. And this was in the days before you gave me some confidence in myself, so I was on the brink of leaving when I saw you and your Mum across the room.  It was only when I got to the end of your row of seats that it occurred to me you might not remember who I was, and if you did you might not want me to sit with you. But then you looked at me and smiled.  

 I suppose it was inevitable I would end up liking you, when the first time you properly registered in my mind was as a place of safety. 

xXx