As I sit and type these words, it’s exactly 30 years, almost to the minute, since Martin knocked on my door – and walked into my heart.

I remember everything so clearly: his beautiful voice, his beautiful face, his beautiful body; the beautiful feeling of falling in love and realizing that with this man at my side I’d always be home – no matter where we were. I remember what I wore, what we spoke about and how he gave me his sweater – it was a surprisingly cold July evening in Jerusalem.

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