Still...

Bésame, bésame mucho, como si fuera esta noche la última vez.
Bésame, bésame mucho, que tengo miedo perderte, perderte otra vez.

I can't forget him, I can't forget him, I can't forget him. I think with my illness, I am also going a little senile and perhaps a little obsessive. I was talking to him about how I remembered the scent of his body... he never smelled it but he did tell me that he can still remember the perfumes of the bodies of people he's really cared for and there are only 3 of them.

That night, I'd followed him to the restaurant and we'd spoken. He'd done a lot of the talking, I think I had been too intimidated. And he'd eaten, he'd told me I was sweet, that he would see me Friday and he'd run to a cab without so much as another look in my direction. I think he'd been trying to flee me. Perhaps he too had breathed a sigh of relief when I hadn't shown up the following weekend. I am hopeless.