There is a new man in my life. I like him a lot. It’s just the beginning of our relationship, but I am sure it will last.

How did I meet him? – Online.

Is he single? – Happily married and has a teenage daughter.

Did I spend a night with him? – Yes, and I loved every moment.

Do I see a future with him? – I do!

You must be thinking I lost my mind. But I believe I have found something truly rare and beautiful.

It started one evening, about 4 months ago, while I was scrolling through Facebook. I have to admit, I am not a big social media fan. I’d rather spend time reading, walking or simply doing something with my daughter. I have enough of my own dramas and joys to deal with and not much time left to get into the dramas and joys of others. But once in a while, when I’m in the mood, I’ll check Facebook hoping to find something new and exciting.

Well, something new and exciting I did find! I saw him. Actually, I saw his post. I read it. I loved it. It was short, sweet and a little bit funny. It was not a major eye opener, either. The post was about teenage girls and their strange habits of having clothes all over the floor, leaving beds undone and managing to find shoes somewhere in between. Apparently, in that sense, French girls are exactly the same as Lithuanian girls. It was a simple, genuine and a very relatable post, told from a father’s perspective. Just a snippet of his daily life. But that was enough.

Do I go on Facebook searching for his new posts? No. If I happen to see one, I read it. And there has not been a post so far that I didn’t like. Impressive, right?

Then, a few weeks later, I saw another post of his. The beginning of it went like this: ‘Oh what a night it’s going to be…’ Huh? A night with the artist? Obviously, I kept reading.

It was indeed an invitation to spend a night at the museum, listening to him read. The whole night. Not entirely sure what to expect, I booked a spot.

I loved every moment of it. I got to see him and his wife, and they just seemed so down to earth. Before the reading he was checking on the audience, offering coffee and pillows. Afterwards, just before 6 am, he humbly admitted shedding a tear or two  while reading a passage from the story. The night was wonderful. Although I did sleep and missed parts of the journey, the thoughts and the encounters of the protagonist stayed with me: the sauna, the priest, the shoes and the green sunset.

Some people compare him to Andy Warhol. To me – he’s simply the artist whose voice I was hearing for one entire night and whose posts I see, read and love on those evenings I scroll through Facebook.

As I stare at the painting by him, I wonder – what’s next?