I tell myself, if that were true, and I waited long enough then a tiny figure would appear on the horizon across the field and gradually get larger until I’d see it was Tommy. He’d wave. And maybe call. I don’t let the fantasy go beyond that, I can’t let it. I remind myself I was lucky to have had any time with him at all.
I cried
I saw this for the first time on HBO last night. My favorite part was “the purpose of The Gallery wasn’t to look into...