I can’t act as if he doesn’t exist. As if he isn’t sitting in a house somewhere while I lie in the sunshine and watch the bathers. I can’t sit in a bar and speak to one of the beachgoers and invite him back to my house and sit with him on my balcony and drink wine and then take him to my bed. That is not possible because I know that sooner or later he will turn into Thomas before my eyes.
