28 Februaury 2017


by Andrew

This is a strange word, rencounters. It's plural. As a noun, it's defined as a chance meeting with someone. As a verb, 3rd person singular—he or she rencounters—it's defined, to meet by chance. It looks strange, rencounters. That's just weird when the vowel disappears. But perhaps it disappears only to be re-encountered again. He-he. I laugh. I giggle. But it implies some surprise too, rencounter.

I can't recall it, but I want to say it was Boswell from whom I lifted it, that chance encounters—rencounters then—are among the greater pleasures of life. Meeting the last person you'd be thinking of, in a place in which you can barely believe yourself even. I haven't felt this completely. But to a small extent I have. When I return home and see old friends, for example. But it's not quite it.

If I was in Rijeka, Croatia for example, and if I saw a childhood friend, one of those bossom-buddies of early age. A friend whom I've not seen in years and years even at home. That's more of the thing.

But experiencing it even on this small scale is a very electrifying emotion. I can believe it, that it's among the nicer pleasures. It'd be a rare one. I think it was Samuel Beckett now, not Boswell. I don't know. It all goes to the good.

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