We Only Have This Moment

When the words left his mouth—landing softly, tenderly on my ears—I felt tears well up.

We were seated outside at the Columbia Restaurant on St. Armands Circle, one of my favorites. Even on that warm June afternoon, a gentle breeze fluttered through the courtyard. Before our meal arrived, he wandered off in search of the restroom, only to get delightfully lost in the nearby gift shop—he loves to shop, and I couldn’t help smiling at the joy on his face as he returned from his triumphant discovery.

This would be our last meal together before I drove him to the airport, capping an unforgettable weekend: our first together after a handful of enchanting dates in our favorite cities.

We only have this moment. He wove it into every conversation that weekend, a mantra to anchor us in the present—to savor each breath, each stolen glance, each squeeze of my hand. It hasn’t even been a year since he lost his wife, and in every tender pause I felt her presence beside us, a quiet reminder of how rare and beautiful this man is.  

Most of the men I spend time with are brilliant.  Successful and interesting, some are charming, others shy.  But this man, who lets me call him Poppi, is special.  I never met a man so emotionally intelligent.  “I was raised by women for women,” He occasionally declares.  

I’ll never forget that weekend or the quiet magic of the Columbia Restaurant. The food—warm, garlicky croquetas—the bubbly, peach sangria, even the faint scent of jasmine in the air: everything felt heightened. But what stays with me most is the connection we forged in stolen seconds of complete presence. It reminds me why I love what I do.

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The Unpaid Dynamic: Lust, Power and the Space between

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The Alchemy of Potential: A Love Letter to What We Could Become