A year passed. I was still none the wiser who the mysterious angel was who had stole my heart in Terni, Italy while I was on a lads’ holiday over here. I had tried to put them out of my head, even dated unsuccessfully. I knew quickly that a half hour talking, wandering the streets with this person had meant more to me than anything before. So I was back. The second day I seen them.
It had to be faith.
They seen me, rushed away. I hadn’t come this far for nothing. I raced after them, caught up.
“You went into a shop and gave me the slip Matteo?”
“You came all the way here for an explanation?”
“I felt a connection. Didn’t you?”
“Yes but you’re gay.”
I didn’t know what that made me, if anything. But it didn’t stop me saying,
“I don’t care.”
In response to the What Pegman Saw writing prompt: