notes on X
At the time my partner was infatuated – ‘in love’ – with X—. We had left the city two years before and were only just settling into the rhythms of life in a smaller town, with its limited pleasures and circumscribed acquaintance, when I became aware of my partner’s feelings. Or, rather, when I was told of them by one of X—’s friends, who I think did not quite approve. She asked me what I thought, and I was forced to confess that I had not thought of the matter at all. At the moment she forced me to examine it, that love, those feelings that weren’t even my own, I found in myself the same tender interest one has for a sore tooth that may or may not be salvageable. I told her I did not know what to think. I still don’t.