Sunday night I found myself feeling a little platonic crush for my friends while watching them have an animated conversation about sewing buttons onto coats. This conversation took place in a bar in Berlin. A cosy bar, a few doors down from where one of my friends now lives, filled mainly with regular Sunday night guests, casually enjoying the last bits of the weekend. Before we had settled down at that cosy bar, two of our other friends, the guys, had already left Berlin to spend the night in a bus back to Eindhoven. For three days we had been together, the five of us, now us visiting someone in Berlin, seven months ago they came together to visit me in Lisbon.

I joined my friends at the bar later, because it were exactly those friends, that I now looked at with such affectionate joy, that I needed a little break from a few hours before. I’ve always considered myself somewhat of a loner, probably both a result of preference as well as necessity. Preference, because I can easily entertain myself, I like not having to compromise on plans and being able to do whatever the fuck I feel like. It’s a choice. Necessity however, sometimes hits me like a bus. And necessity did hit Saturday afternoon. We had strolled around Berlin all day and later planned to meet up with a larger group for dinner. I’ve never travelled much with others, and I believe the more you don’t, the less patience you have for the indecisiveness and the constant waiting. So, by the time we sat down at a Vietnamese restaurant, I was drained, my social battery was dead. The conversation no longer was interesting, the banality no longer funny, and the little noises produced by an almost empty restaurant were enough to distract me from participating in any conversation. To be fair, at that point I also couldn’t be bothered to. I whipped out my book while we waited for our food to be served. About fifteen pages in I realized that I needed a proper break from this group, that I adore, but also couldn’t bear anymore.

Let’s find some distraction. I’ve mastered the effectiveness of twenty-first century dating. Within fifteen minutes of deciding that the best thing for me now was to get a bit of physical activity and to get out of my head, I had matched, chatted and set up a date with a man within walking distance from the restaurant. I enjoyed my food, and enjoyed my friends a lot more knowing that salvation was near and an hour later I stepped out into the chilly Berlin air. Alone, isolated from the world by blasting music through my noise cancelling headphones. I had looked up the route before leaving the restaurant, so the moment I stepped out on the street I knew where I was going.

These things tend to be hit or miss. Old or vague photos, smoothness over chat that doesn’t translate to real life, awkward shyness or gross houses, and of course some people’s vibes you just don’t match with, all these things can result in misses. But you never know, I’ve had enough hits before to stay optimistic. Prepared for either scenario, I rang the doorbell. Although, the solitary walk had already pulled me out of my funk and recharged me plenty to deal with a miss, I could really use a hit.

And a hit it was, bullseye.

It was exactly what I needed. Chill vibes, great sex, perfect distractions, and an unexpectedly unforced connection. A little space to breath, to get out of my head, to recharge. His warm studio apartment was like a little oasis in the city. An oasis that I gratefully sought out again the next day, after which I joined my friends at that cosy bar, to infatuatedly listen to them talk about buttons. I love my friends, not necessarily for their fascinating talk of buttons, but because they allow me to be me. They don’t care that I pull out a book in a restaurant or that I occasionally need breaks from them. But of course, talking about buttons with them is pretty nice too. Even though, secluding oneself is now apparently an act that is referred to by my first name, I know my friends accept me. And what more can a loner hope for?