The departures by way of detention and deportation that I see on the news, wrenching scenes of love being pulled apart, hit a delicate spot in me and make me ache. He and I first smiled at each other one night almost 20 years ago in Café Remy, a favorite downtown Manhattan spot for the area’s financial workers. With the humid August air making his dark thick hair a cherubic mess, I thought, “Hey, Angel Boy, you look so cute. I spent the next few months rolling around on my floor, drinking wine and crying into my journals. In social situations with my friends, he always seemed adorably awkward, until the day he said, “I’m not shy.

Source: New York Times April 27, 2018 03:56 UTC