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After you left the flat, I could not rid my mind of a Western popular song. Not only the tune, but the words, going round and round in my head: “I Want Candy.” Do you know this song? I cannot decipher it myself, but then English is such a mysterious language. The flat was spare. The spare was flat.
What I want to say is that it is not in my nature to dismiss you. Not in the way you imagine, two individuals going separate ways. We desire different things and I don’t believe that either of us is satisfied, yet. I see something in you that journeys far beyond need — it’s the same longing you see in the mongrel’s eyes, that pup who would love you like a brother. I’ve seen his skinny shoulders shiver while he waits for you, smoking an American cigarette as if it were a lamp to light the path.
Oh yes, I know all about him, and I know how much it would pain him to learn what I know about you. The strength of gaze and the emptiness of garments. The breath; the dark. Learning these things was like falling through warm shadows into cool water: The memory calms me in a way that other transactions have not.
You taught me that word, and I treasure it. There is so much of the world in it, of giving and of receiving. But I will not repeat it here. Let us agree that we will meet again, at another flat if you insist (I do indeed have a spare.)
We need not meet right away, of course, but I would dig the well before I am thirsty. In that respect, perhaps I can repay your lessons with one or two of my own.
This is not a threat, you understand. Even though we are not friends, you can consider this a friendly warning. You can rest assured: I will not love you.