Dear Anonymous,
Remembering a day when he turned around before heading back to a group of men at the ferry terminal and shouted to me,
'We sing to each other.'
He stood there. Looking at me. Vulnerable and strong simultaneously.
And I recall stopping in my tracks. Feeling this was a gift we do not all have in our lives. I was also dumbstruck that he took the time to turn around and share.
I know it's completely transferential because I consider music divine and intimate and am happy for them and I say
'That's so wonderful you have that.' and, damn, I mean it.
He responds
'It's not always pretty. But we sing.'
and walks around the corner.
I imagine this choir of brokenness, loss and joy, of defiance and stubbornness, of grime and pain, of love and darkness ...and part of me is so deeply jealous in the finest of ways.
I hope they sing now. Chorus after chorus. I hope they sing.