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queer joy is always a revolution.”
“Why did he have to go, too?” “I don’t know, honey,” Jodi whispered into her hair. “I don’t know.” And then, “We never do. We just have to keep going on, for them.”
How many times did one fall in love, over the course of a lifetime? Maybe there wasn’t only one answer. Maybe there was no limit.
Your forties weren’t really about being old at all. They were about watching the people you loved most actually grow old.
So it went in a small town, as in a city: some highs and some lows, until the day was done, and you tried again.
Maybe he needed to meld all of his Befores, all of his Afters. Maybe he needed to stitch it all back together.
