No Tissues
Dear Diary:
I was staying with a friend in Murray Hill while back in New York for a visit in 2019. I got together with an old boyfriend. He was a drummer, and I went with him to a gig in Brooklyn.
We talked openly and honestly and deeply on the subway ride back, acknowledging the love that still connected us.
I kissed him goodbye at Grand Central and started walking. I was crying hard. He had been the love of my life, and I knew this might be the last time I ever saw him.
My face was drenched, and I had no tissues. Hoping to get some napkins, I stopped into a diner on Lexington Avenue that I had often gone to when I lived in the city.
There was a long line for tables and takeout. I told the people who were waiting that I wasn’t cutting the line. I just needed some napkins.
“Hey, let her through,” one man in the line yelled. “She’s crying.”
The crowd made way, and I stepped up to the counter. The manager recognized me as a regular.
