My beautiful friend, full of affection, made for love. In lying with him, I had sought to bring her closer to me. I had tried to become her, in every way that I could. Instead, in taking my pleasure from his body, I had stolen from her—stolen what should have been hers, her wedding night. I went to her tombstone and lay down upon it. When my fingers found the place where the unpracticed graver had botched her inscription, that tiny indignity undammed my grief, and the sobs wracked my body until the stone was slick with tears.
