It is time to move on. I have lived long enough amongst these people. I have told them all the stories I know, and, in return, they have told me all their stories.
I have promised several of those women who dared to visit me in the dark safety of the night to take each of them with me when I leave. I will not take them, and deep down I think they know, and expect, that. However, I will leave them satisfied with the dreams that such promises bring. All of us have made promises we know we will never keep.
Promises are a lot like stories, I suppose. For both stories, and promises, it is important to believe. When I tell my stories, or make those promises, I really do believe. I believe that what I am saying is true and there is no way at all it could be otherwise.
Nevertheless, looking back later, I see that I - like all storytellers - was under the spell of the moment. A spell that would make me say, or do, anything to keep that audience's rapt attention, or to make that woman continue removing her clothes for me.
