Love is on the screen again.
I swipe away the men like flies who share the secrets of the not-so-fair sex. My eyes linger on the sad poetry that falls from the mouths of the women who have loved and lived to tell the tale. And when someone is brave enough to offer some fragment worth weaving into the whole, I whisper, “I hear you” as I tap save on my screen.
The content is endless. Exhausting. Tales of heartbeats whose rhythms cross like stars. Romeos who ghost their Juliets. Juliets who carve their initials into Romeo’s skin. Bodies pronouncing. Bodies retreating.
Love has always come easily, but in this time of great blue lights, it seems harder to find.
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Make love make sense again. My new book, Letters to My Lovers, is now available. (A full list of store links is on my homepage.)
