It wasn’t that the stars shone brighter when I was beside you that night; it was that the darkness between them now felt comforting and familiar. I yearned for grand and you offered gentle. You stroked my hair with your eyes in the cool San Francisco twilight. Seldom exchanged words flowed like honey from velvet lips. I told you between bites of a deli sandwich that Mission Dolores Park’s milieu reassured me I was alive and you smiled at feelings unspoken. I realized later that night that I longed to touch you. I made sure that my bag hung from my left shoulder, leaving my right hand free to rest at my side. I wasn’t sure if you were aware of my feeble gesture and wasn’t sure I cared if you were. All that mattered is that you knew I was beginning to fall for you.