They text daily, sleep together, cook on Sundays, and know each other's friends. When she asks what they are building, he says he dislikes labels and is not ready for anything more. She stays anyway. She feels anxious, loyal, confused, and quietly ashamed for wanting a relationship. When it ends, there is no breakup, only silence where daily connection used to be. Grief and self-doubt consume her, but she feels ashamed because they were never "official."
It hit me hard, out of nowhere. I'm never going to have children. I'm 55 years old; that ship has sailed. It disappeared from my biological horizon years ago a once fertile landscape that held so much hope, promise and seemingly endless possibility. A horizon that, sadly, I took for granted. Did I forget to wind my biological clock? I admit to hearing it ticking, but at some point the throes of everyday life and loss drowned out the alarm until it eventually perished
On his 2021 debut as For Those I Love, David Balfe closed the gap between performance poetry, moody 1980s synthpop and sample-stuffed electronica to craft an evocative eulogy for his friend Paul Curran, who died by suicide in 2018.