“You were wet with fear, she was wet with passion.”

The graffiti instantly brought back a flood of memories…

Juanita and I had spent much time together since her family had come to Australia from Uruguay. I thought it was love, and she did too. I got constant hell from her brothers at school, and her father told me the pain would be intense if I hurt his daughter. Nita was impervious, and would fob them all off readily, and regularly.

Once we knew our feelings were strong she demanded we make love to seal our bond. My love and respect forbade me expecting it, but it was massively important to her. She organised the day that we wagged school when nobody was home at her house. That didn’t stop my fearing her father would appear. Her passion could’ve burnt the house down on its own. My heart was lost forever from that day.

She died two months later. Her letter apologised for the illness she didn’t tell me about. I realised her urgency. I still bear no hard feelings.

My heart still lives with her…