You were enthusiastic about that prospect. You brought a truckload of stuff and moved in. The flat was tiny, but well located: close to the centre, in a nice neighborhood.

Our fourth year together passed like a breeze. Amsterdam held its promises. The city was romantic and full of mysteries. There was water everywhere, bringing a breath of the ocean along the streets bordering the canals. The wind was forceful, but it was also revitalizing. It was carving lines in our faces. We liked them better now.

Things were just fine in Waterland till I noticed that they were not. Later, I would meditate on signs that I had let slip away. Omens that, at the time, I did not register. I was busy with my work and I’d come home late. I’d fall asleep within minutes, too exhausted to pay attention to you. It may sound strange to you now, but that life suited me.

I cheated on you in the course of a trip to Barcelona, during the winter of 1990. You remember my Spanish friend, don’t you? That guy you used to call Mr. Government. Anyway, when I came he had little time for me. He explained to me that he was living a fiery love affair, and left me the keys to his studio. I called a girl that I had met on the train, and we met in a bar. That night, she came over and we fucked madly until dawn. I’m not sure why I confessed it to you, but I did. Your notes in the entrance multiplied and became more delirious. Here’s a sample:

"I’m sick

my heart is aching

you’re never there when I need you

You’re killing yourself in me, you’re killing my friend, my family

you were home to me

I’m homeless now

my accomplice, a rat

all lost, it hurts

L."

And here’s another one:

"Where are the pills that erase memory?

L."

Before I left for Barcelona, you handed me a letter. You said I’d have plenty of time to read it during the trip. But in the train, I was sitting with that girl and forgot all about the letter. Anyway, soon after my return, you became seriously ill. Your appetite vanished and your health declined. Your family brought you back to Brussels and put you in a clinic. According to them, I was the source of all evil. Visits were denied me. Eventually, you regained some strength and moved to an apartment in Brussels. The place belonged to your father, but I’d sneak in secretly and regularly until January 27th, 1991, the night when I put an end to your sufferings.