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Most of the time, I spent the afternoons looking for postcards to send off. But today, Seth insisted on taking me out for lunch. We strolled down Kingstreet and went walking along the river towards Richmond. Seth was a little worried I was losing it again, because I was talking about quitting my job and moving back home. Things will get better, he said a couple of times. Sometimes I preferred to think of him as an older brother rather than an old lover. He put his arm around me and told me to cheer up. I told him about my friend moving to San Francisco. He said America was a beautiful place worth visiting. I liked it when Seth spoke of distant places, especially America. He told me to look up flights and we could go together, jokingly, of course. An old man was out walking his dog and as he passed us both me and Seth glanced at one another and smiled. We had once shared an episode in life when we spent weekends visiting families trying to get writhe of their puppies. Being two indecisive individuals, it was an impossible task even attempting to pick one and so we agreed to get a goldfish instead. We called him Mr. G. He died shortly after we bought him, I kept his glass bowl and filled it with seashells I had collected from different holiday destinations. Seth held my hand and squeezed it as if trying to say something through physical touch rather than using words. He did that a lot. Something which I had always found quite strange since he was normally very talkative and keen to talk about his feelings and thoughts and ideas. Sometimes it worried me a little bit, because I thought it might be my fault, thinking that maybe, if he spent too much time with me, he would eventually lose his ability to speak at all. I squeezed his hand back but as subtle as I possibly could so that he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. We looked at each other.

-Why are you not happy here, you think? He asked me out of the blue.

-I don’t know. I replied, almost too quickly.

-I wish I felt the same. I mean, I’m not incredibly happy or anything. What are you looking for?

-What do you mean?

-Like, for example, in life? What is it that you are looking for? What do you want to achieve?

-Oh my god! What are you, a therapist?!

-Seriously though, what do you think it is you are looking for that you haven’t found here?

-Oh, I really don’t have a clue. Honestly.

-Love?

-What?

-Never mind. I don’t know. I worry about you. But I know you’ll be alright, so then I worry about me, for worrying so much… you know what I mean?

-Not really.

-You’ll find your way. Like you always do. I think what worries me more than anything is that… you’ll find your way away from here. Because that’s where you are suppose to be. Somewhere else.

- What are you talking about?

Seth let go of my hand and faced the sun as if to demonstrate his point but I was deeply confused.

-What do you mean, Seth?

-That you’ve already found your way and here I am squeezing your hand as if to hold you back.

-That’s a little egocentric of you isn’t it?

-Not really. I believe it’s the truth. I’m holding you back. If it wasn’t for me you’d be gone already.

I was upset but at the same time relieved, as if he was my doctor finally offering me the subscription for the only medication in the world keeping people from growing old and grey and useless. Not that old people were any more useless than young people. I began to think of Joan my granny and felt a strong desire to give her a call as soon as I got home tonight. She was so cool about everything. Even during a heart attack she would make sure someone took care of the dog before she could leave to go to the hospital, saying “he is of better worth”. No one understood quite what it meant but took it seriously because let’s face it, the old woman is having a heart attack and we don’t want to upset her.

- Come here, let’s sit down for a bit. Seth suggested and pointed at the bench. I