Last summer, on a quiet crisp night I went on a starlit walk with a beautiful woman. We sat on the seawall (a waterside walk in Vancouver) and stared at the moon on the waves, our arms around each other. We told funny stories, held hands, shared things we had not shared with each other before, she felt good against me. It was a beautiful night. We did not kiss. She was not my lover. Her partner is a good friend.

One night myself and another found our way into Academie Duello in the wee hours. We left the lights dim, we filled the space with music. We danced, we sang, we made complete fools of ourselves. Later we opened the windows and climbed onto the ledges and let our feet dangle into the street. For that night we were in Rent!, we were in love, we were crazy kids sharing a romantic dream. I was 28 and married. Not to her.

The moon was high in the sky and the summer air was thick, in a way that it rarely is in Vancouver. We pushed the tall hemp stocks apart with our arms and pressed into the thick field. Her parents owned one of the first non-THC hemp fields in BC and I was getting a tour. The stocks were over our heads and the full moon kept peaking through between cannabis leaves. When we’d found our way to the middle we pushed down a plot and had a midnight picnic. The moon was beautiful in her eyes. She was my friend. My girlfriend was working late.

Can there be romance without being lovers? Can we open our heart to intimacy without tradition? Can we share love without requirement? If there is room for profound connection, should we not follow it?

That it harm none, so mote it be.