Someone once opined there was no excuse for you not leaving. That there was no great tragedy binding you to the life that existed before we met. We were not playing out our love against the backdrop of history, no great cultural wall was separating us. To choose me was not a matter of life or death, or the demanding of an ultimate sacrifice. It was merely a play off between comfort and desire.
What they never understood was the strength of your invisible ties. Like so many men your sense of right and wrong came from a book and a wooden spoon. Later it would be your father’s magazines and a box around the ears for disrespecting your mother. Decency wrapped itself around your wild parts as love was metered out in ancient verse and trips to the bathroom at your father’s office.
I can’t imagine how much you…
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