Evan, that I might share the magic that was his. I went away from Philip's door. sad and tragic.

It happened accidently. I know that Philip never meant it to be. They came in together, to where I sat with someone whose name is long forgotten. It was too late for Philip to pretend not to see me, although I knew he wanted to. And Evan sat down at the table opposite me. And I looked at his lean tanned face, at his sun-bleached hair, at his disturbing eyes, and I knew why Philip loved him. I didn't begin to love him then, because I had loved him forever. He was drunk. I knew it when he reached across the table before we had spoken more than the polite responses to introduction, and took my hand in his.

"And how long has this lovely lady been a friend of yours?" he asked Philip. I drew my hand away, frightened at the alarm, the hurt, that chased the joy from Philip's eyes. This has happened before, I told myself. This is at the bottom of all his grief.

Dear Philip, sweet, whimsical, sometimes crazy Philip. How dreadfully I repaid

you for your gifts, your generous sharing with me of the treasures of your mind. What a little thing it would have been, to have left you your love. What a small thing, to have given you Evan, in exchange for Beethoven, Shakespeare and El Greco. What a poor pupil I was not to have learned more thoroughly your teachings of unselfishness, generosity and appreciation. Wherever you are now, Philip, believe me, I know these things well today.

I shouldn't have let it happen, but I did. I should have gone then, and given Philip back his happiness, but I didn't. Loyalty, understanding, and all my one-ness with Philip fled at the touch of Evan's hand. I became in a spilt second uncomprehending, intolerant of the love of man for man. We are right, Evan and I, I thought. Philip has no part in this. He is perverted, twisted

So then, I used the lures of womankind. So then, Evan left Philip and came to me. I lost Philip then, and Evan later.

And Evan, of the sinewy body and roving heart, where are you now? Who is yearning now for the sight of your odd blue eyes, the sound of your strange, husky voice? What new hand do you cover with your own, compelling, wordlessly, a love you do not want, have not earned, and will soon abandon? I have not forgotten you either, Evan, because you have been the third, the necessary part of that exotic triangle, now disintegrated, forever lost around the curve of Time.

This

This then, is what I want you to know, because it is what I cannot forget. And, as I say, to hell with conflict!

one

2.2.

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