It's interesting to realise the quirky things about people that make you like them.

I walked into his room. well sort of. it was his sister's room before but she got married and moved out a while back. there was a huge king bed and on the bed was a black hard back novel by james patterson. Not exactly the kind of book I'd read. His glasses were wedged between the pages, marking up where he left off. they were intellectual and serious looking rectangular thin black metal frames. I think he looked better in them. I've always preferred bespectacled men.
The memory of the novel and glasses on the bed brings back warm fuzziness.

To list down other quirky things that I remember fondly, I'd say, the clean yet musky smell of the bed and pillows. The way the room had a warm yellowish hue when the sun streamed in. How there was always a lingering smell of cologne.

And as an after thought, although it used to be one of the main reasons why I like him, how I always felt taken care of. Looked after. Safe.

In the end, I never really knew him and he never really knew me. We are as good as strangers and yet we were close friends.

I indulge myself and wonder about "what ifs"... but only sometimes.