ONLY WEIRDNESS, the rest left unsaid. Sometimes things in life are like this. There is no resolution. There is no resolution to the story with the Icelandic girl you left behind behind the Hallgrímskirkja on a December day. There are memories. An old Volkswagen microbus parked on Njálsgata. Frost on the windows. Mist in the harbor. Long walking streets, hot baths, eateries, pubs, staircases, bordellos. Bricks and lanterns, swimming pools, buses and mountains. There are memories, but there is no resolution, because she had turned her back to you and will not say. She will not say what went wrong and why, and any attempt to contact her is met with silence. She is not talking and so you take it all on yourself. It must have been your doing, naturally, if she cannot even bring herself to utter one phrase or word about it. It must be you and not her. So you walk away with a guilt-ridden conscience, but for what, you can no longer say. It’s probably some complex of yours plucked from a self-help book. Maybe you fancy yourself as a victim or martyr? Or you have narcissistic personality disorder? Maybe you are an autist too? An easy diagnosis and remedy. You’re just confused, that’s all. Just confused. But what else is there to do or say about it? Nothing. You fumble for words, but they can’t bring back the connection. There is only weirdness now. It was just a thing, as they say. Just a thing that happened. You should let it go, friends advise. Let what go? There’s nothing there anyway. It was just a thing that happened. Something that happened. Then it was all over. Then it was nothing.