Some move on.
And the very few Somes keep in touch
I got one today.
I can't tell you how many years I've been getting them from a former gentleman lover. As my name is sprinkled throughout with a couple of dearests, I think perhaps, unless there were many such as myself all bestowed with this fairly common name, that the email is personal. For my eyes only, so to speak.
I'm at the age where lovers can be pretty thin on the ground, ex- or otherwise.
He's a few years older than I, I wrote about him - kinda sorta with my usual poetic and literary licence - here, for those who are curious. (And I know I would be if you were writing this post). Go to the extreme right column for the succession of instalments - there are 6. That 1st draft remained that way.
It's rather gratifying to have any kind of passion declared for one at my doddery age. I imagine the passion is for my younger, adventurous self as is my passion for his sprightly, but fearful, self (he is now crippled with arthritis).
One of life's greatest kissers was Ian.
An admirable skill set at any age.