Sleeping light. Again. Rolling in my bed, again. Through the thin walls of my AirBnB room, my ears hear some flat fellows living a loud night life. My brain is digesting fresh memories of adventures last Sunday.
During the night, I occasionally lift my head to turn around and reposition myself. At those times, I see my phone blinking. I ignore it, tugging my cushion comfortably. Messages can wait until the morning.
And what a morning I woke up to.
I was glad Bane's ghost left me for a while on Sunday afternoon during my paragliding experience. I dived into something new during that flight, it made me feel alive - more than I ever was for the last couple of years. Note to myself: do more things like this, freshen up, release adrenaline, laugh and live.
Ok, so it is morning now. What's the matter with my blinking phone? Who is texting?
"Hello there. Bane is still here."
My heart stopped beating. He sent the message at 2 am that Monday.
What should I write? Should I answer at all (hashtag-chicken-hearted). I take my time to think. I leave my room, tip-toeing on the creaking wooden floor to the bathroom. My mind is all unsettled. What should I write?
Sometime after I reconned, Bane himself was a better companion than his ghost. I started chatting:
"Hey, great to hear from you. How are you?"
"Fine. And you? Came to Lisbon without saying anything to your friend Bane?"
"Then how do you know I am here?"
"I smelled your perfume."
Charmer, I thought. I wanted to ask so much, but I start with: "I hope you do not mind me writing about you in my blog?"
Heartbeat. Glad he could not see me then.
"I love your blog."
The ghost was gone once and forever. I felt relieved. Sort of forgiven. I texted him back, thankfully: "Lisbon is friendlier when you are texting."
As him and I continue chatting, kinder memories come alive and the wish to see him again is growing stronger in me. Yet time is never right for things like this. For people like us. For meets of this sort.