It goes like this: There was this person you loved. All those months you spent taking care of him, it was almost as if the two of you were one. His body contained the disease, but the pain consumed you both. You were off in the North Atlantic somewhere, stranded on an iceberg, and though it was brutally cold in that place, and every single thing about being there was hard, you were together on your iceberg. There was hardly one thing that took place there that you did not share. Then your iceberg broke in two. You floated off in one direction, he in another. And though the place you ended up is a warmer one, with sailboats passing by — their bright flags fluttering in the breeze, and friendly people waving and calling out to you — your fellow traveler has disappeared. His iceberg melted away with him on it. New things are happening now that you experience and he does not.
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