I just got up and walked around. I have so many feelings for that man, most of them are not good. I have the stereotypical “one hot tear” going down the left side of my face, mourning the loss of a male figure.
I wonder if my literary friend looks like Alan Rickman now. It’s been many years, and he did have that potential. He was amazingly gay, in the classiest way possible. Meaning he was brilliant and deserved the highest respect without even considering him as a sexual, or even human, being. And that respect was ironclad and untouchable even if you found him passed out on a trail in the woods covered in nothing but glitter and dirt at 10am on a Tuesday.