Chiara’s love for Taylor, and my love for Chiara, won out. Taylor was begrudgingly allowed into our home and my life.
Feed your head, Grace sings. Feed your head. So you do.
I’m fairly sure, though, that you didn’t request the song because of its profound message. No, at the age of ‘not quite two,’ it was just a song you liked, and especially a song you liked to sing.
I blink - and the Badloves disappear. Instead, on the stage, I see a ghost. Not Elvis, no. But a King nonetheless. Heath King.
You resolve to simply never think about Harry Styles, or One Direction, ever again.
I watch the funeral on my own, in bed, after recording it. I don’t want to watch it in real time with others around me, the people who don’t understand, who tell me I'm being silly.
Where I went to school, boys – men – didn’t dance. Not unless they were full of whisky bluster or beer bravado, anyway, and certainly not the way he was, his lithe body a study in confident, soft, expressive masculinity.
Every morning he switches on the radio to my favourite station. He hopes it will help. Most of the time I barely notice it.
I’m exhausted and out of breath. I don’t even know where I am anymore. Have I missed my stop? I wouldn’t know.
I wasn’t a fan of his music, but I went along to impress the new fella in my life.