The Golden Path
On chance encounters, dating, and the quiet power of real life.
It’s just another Thursday.
I get naked, put on my swimming trunks, and head to the pool. Say hi to the instructor, greet her little squad of mini-humans and future Olympians, then make my way to free swim lane six to lap around the sun.
It’s 4 PM - the brief golden hour when the classes switch and the lanes empty out. The rays hit perfectly here, slicing through the west-facing windows and flooding lane six with light.
It’s almost heavenly.
Like waking up next to a lover. Like staring at the endless horizon of the Mediterranean Sea. Or listening to that song on repeat.
I swear, if I knew who designed this building, I’d invite them for dinner just to say thank you.
Efficient swim, an empty lane, and a view that feels like micro-dosing psilocybin every time I turn on the wall.
If I had to die somewhere, that would be the place.
I could write about that feeling for a while, but really, I wanted to tell you about what happened after the swim.
Exhausted, I was heading back to the changing rooms, weaving past the showers, when I saw her; the instructor - walking back towards the pool.
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