There are parts of queer history we will never touch. People who lived quiet lives and were forgotten within a generation. Stories that were tucked under the bed and hidden from the world. Diaries that were burned with nothing to recover. Beyond the hiding, there is queerness that never had the chance to be discovered, people who felt different but never gave themselves a moment or sliver of grace to explore, much less vocalize it. This is worth mourning. It is worth cradling to your chest and feeling to the fullest devastation. More than anything else, it is worth remembering.