I walked over to him. He was not at the bench he normally sits at, which took me by surprise. After scanning the park for a few minutes, I saw him sitting up against an oak tree by the pond. I asked him if we could move, hoping he would say yes so that my white dress would not stain from the mud and wet grass. Ignoring my question, he told me that he had been waiting for precisely fifteen minutes. I would have apologized, but he does this every time. He knows I cannot come any earlier and that I come as soon as my class finishes; yet he still does not seem to get it. Once we start talking about our days, however, he becomes less irritated with me. I ignore his frustration until it melts away and he is off rambling about his days painting in Cannes and backpacking in Budapest. I have never met anyone more excited about life than Charles. It is funny because he is truly the last person I would have thought to be so enthusiastic about the simple things in life.

He tells me in the upcoming year he will travel to Barcelona and Hamburg, and hopefully will make it to Sicily. He has yet to visit Switzerland, but is waiting to go until winter when he can ski. He has always been one for the outdoors. I remember when we first met, he had me close my eyes and take a deep breath. I felt full, alive, and connected to everything around me. I was calm and happy to just breathe.

When the conversation dies down he asks about my mother. I answer the same way every time, telling him what he already knows. I do not like talking about my personal issues with him, mainly because I want to hear about all of his travels. I feel like I get to live through him and his stories. I try to picture myself completing a watercolor painting on a crowded beach in Cannes. Sometimes I swear I can hear those annoying seagulls he always mentions that squawked around him. He hates birds let me tell you, which I think is sort of funny. I do not know if I will ever get to half of the places he has explored. All I can do for now is listen, close my eyes, and wait in longing for my turn.