It seems indecent to feel, or worse embrace, joy, when your loved one is disappearing.
But joy is clever; it sneaks into the mud of your sorrow and explodes it away in rainbowish sparkles.
It is nearly 35 years since I, rather transparently, fell in love with Anthony and he kept his reciprocal feelings secret (I was, after all, still a teenager and he was over 40).
I think of what we had, what we endured, what we celebrated, and what we have now, as a big kind of love – huge, inviolable, but feather-light, a joy.
I have never felt so sad.
I have never felt so happy.
Joy.
Anthony.



















