Theres a silence in Derry thats thicker than the fog over the Foyle. A silence about bodies. About touch. About wanting.
I wasnt always this lonely. Margaret and me we had 42 years together. Proper marriage. Church wedding. Three kids. But since shed gone its like ive forgotten how skin feels against skin. How warmth works.
The generation that lived through the Troubles we learned not to speak. Not about feelings. Not about needs. We survived by keeping everything locked down tight. No vulnerability. No admitting weakness.
So when I first met Sarah through an online service I was shaking like a kettle about to boil. All that Catholic guilt churning in my stomach. What would the parish say? What would Margarets memory think? But christ I was tired of being alone.
Sarah was kind. Professional. Didnt judge the tremble in my hands or the way my voice caught when we first talked. She understood something about men like me. Men who spent decades holding everything in.
Its not just about sex. Its about being seen. Being touched. Being reminded youre still human after all these years of keeping yourself small and quiet.
Derry doesnt talk about this. But maybe we should.