Several lifetimes ago I read the book The Remains of the Day. It had been suggested to me by a man I’d met and had a brief…something with. I wouldn’t have called it a fling, exactly. It certainly wasn’t an affair. More a case of mistaken time and place, perhaps. One of those things where if circumstances had been different, perhaps the end result would also have been different. Or perhaps it wouldn’t have. It’s hard to say. But I do remember in one of his letters that he had mentioned the book, expressing the fear that perhaps we would meet again in the distant future, only to realize in that one moment that we had made a terrible mistake – that we might have wasted a chance at happiness for the sake of practicality. But that’s the rub, isn’t it? Because you can never know what the end result… Read more