T oday from the train I sat at a dining table over the aisle from two young lesbians, who have been keeping hands and gazing into each other people eyes they had done wrong to each other, especially in the last few days when it seemed they had each been grumpy and snappish as they contritely apologised, profusely and simultaneously, for everything.
I smiled to myself, thinking, aww – this option will be the cutest. And I also felt a small stab of one thing — longing? be sorry for? — that nagged in the side of my heart, needling it carefully. We remembered wistfully exactly exactly how it seems to love that much, to love an other woman also to be liked right back. There’s nothing quite enjoy it, it really is insular, safe and protected, like inhabiting a sweet tiny universe you each create together.