T oday from the train we sat at a dining table over the aisle from two young lesbians, have been keeping fingers 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 would 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 back be loved. You'll find nothing quite it is insular, safe and protected, like inhabiting a sweet Going Here small universe you each create together like it.
The other associated with the few endured and comforted one other, hugging her as — we think — she cried.