Sighting

Where is the man who held my hand?  We stood across the table from each other in the Pschorr-Festzelt Bräurosl tent Sunday evening Oktoberfest.  You wore a hat, jeans & t-shirt (I think).  I wore a wine-coloured corduroy dress & a white top underneath.  There was dancing and drinking.  We held hands and listened to music.  You held my hand every time I reached over and took yours.  Your hand was warm. You were gentle.  We never spoke.  I got a sparkler. You didn’t.  We shared.  I am ever grateful for your companionship that evening.  I think of you and pray for you every day.  You intrigue me. I would like to know your name…