There was one night when I was in Israel that I met a girl named Tiyah at my hostel in Tel Aviv. She had traveled all around. I don’t remember exactly how we met, but we shared a bunk bed in a coed hostel room. She had the top bunk. I took the bottom. We ended up spending the afternoon together, and much of the evening. We made friends with some school teachers from Europe and hung out with them on the roof for a while.

Tiyah was from Britain, or France, or both. A bit of one and some of the other. She had a unique accent, sweetness, and a bold sense of adventure. When the teachers moved on, Tiyah and I lay on the pillows of the rooftop and talked. A brief and immediate connection touched the roots of us. 

She was a year or two younger than me. She was pretty. She wore airy clothes and had a teddy bear named Doobie that she took on every trip with her to photograph in different places. She could pick up languages like no one I’ve ever met, and made a point of trying to learn the language every place she went. 

I miss Tiyah. I miss the world I lived in when I met her. I miss the humidity and the rooftop bar and the freedom of going anywhere I liked. I miss making friends of strangers and strange new friends. I miss meeting people for an evening and then never seeing them again, but missing them anyways.

Alas.