You posted a memory from three years ago and, even though I had seen the photo before, when you originally posted it, something about it struck me for the first time. In the photo your running gear is neatly laid out upon your bed prior to the marathon and the bedsheet on your bed is one that I gave to you. It was one that my parents gave to me. It came from South Africa to England and then to Madrid where I gave it to you. The photo reminded me of how you asked me to help you to prepare for the marathon and for one month how we exhausted ourselves working to the schedule that you had set. You were impressed that someone twelve or thirteen years older than you could keep up. However, I was not able to do the marathon… I didn’t even try, you did that alone. I also didn’t have the additional strength and motivation that you showed whilst preparing for the event… you would run further than the training schedule required whilst I wanted to stick strictly to it, possibly just for the sake of doing less. I recall the smile on your face that day as you saw me when I arrived to see you cross the finish line and how it felt as if we were the best of friends. We were the best of friends, as well as lovers. At that point I thought we’d be close for life and even as I left Madrid you told me that I had become an important part of your life and would be missed. The last few months, however, have passed by with no word from you, not even a reply to my short messages asking how you are and I suppose that your silence is as clear a message as any.
