Something happened between Shit School Acquaintance and I when I went to Barcelona last month. Something so indefinable that I shan't trouble you with definitions.
All I'll say is that it wasn't what I expected, it wasn't what I wanted. As I'd said to friends before I went: "Foca went to that school. What? I didn't shag the boys in the 6th form so I could start to shag them now? No way."
As we said goodbye at the airport, I told him, with my head upon his shoulder: "We should end it here. You live here, I live there, you want to live here, I want to live there, let's just remember it as something positive."
Two weeks ago he flew to London. "I'm coming to see you," he said.
When I saw him off at Victoria I said, with my head upon his shoulder: "This has to end here. The space is good now but it won't always be."
He's been asking me to visit him in Barcelona ever since. "I can't afford to," I say. "And even if I could, I have priorities here."
Yesterday he emailed me. "Come to Barcelona, I'll pay your flight."
A risk is a risk is a risk.
My heart is not lonely, it lives with the most beautiful soul on the planet.
My heart is vast though, do I free it from its shackles?
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