Morning Sun, 1952 by Edward Hopper

If a worldwide pandemic sounds like an inopportune time to fall in love, it was an even worse time to get my heart broken.

It was in a sense like dining in the dark. With the noise of a normal social and work life muffled, with no parties or travel arrangements or end to COVID in sight, every taste and sensation of new love was perilously sharpened into focus. On paper we were perfect for each other. He was a Gemini, a serious writer, had perfectly tousled Jon Snow hair, took anti-depressants and went to weekly therapy like me. Every…


Or the story of a doomed infatuation, fear and Parisian snobs

En amour, écrire est dangereux, sans compter que c’est inutile. — Le Demi-Monde by Alexandre Dumas Fils

I took up French my senior spring in college as a way to keep my mind occupied during the fallout of a harrowing break up. I feared the language for me might always be tainted with memories of profound melancholy, pillows damp with tears and empty, futile embraces with other men, but instead the uptake felt like a renewal, a commitment to a purpose. I relished in the discipline of waking up…


image via thisisnthappiness.com

The situation was the kind of cooked-up irony I expect from the scripts of romantic comedies. We were at the engagement party of two mutual friends from college. The future groom had proposed seaside and they spent the weekend in private bungalow swimming under the stars. Their blooming love contrasted with our ruined, forgotten one.

Since the invitation arrived, I had imagined every scenario for this afternoon. In one, he saw me and recognized he missed me. In another, he ignored me entirely. In yet another, he would show up with a new, svelte girlfriend.

When I did see him…


So nothing really happened this year; is that such bad thing ?

swept up in a wave, Manuel Antonio Beach Costa Rica

It’s easy to look at a year where nothing momentous happened as a total wash. There was no job promotion or new degree. I didn’t have a boyfriend or a fiancé. In fact, I got dumped by a pseudo-boyfriend and then he fled across the country to Brooklyn. I am 24 and a half: my psychic uncle said I should have met “the One” by now, but I am currently doubting his clairvoyant abilities. I didn’t adopt a cat from the SPCA down the road like I had…


Realizing that the actualization of desire comes with a certain loss of innocence

This summer, I watched the Netflix romantic comedy du jour “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before” with some girlfriends. The movie evoked pure giddiness in all of us, save a few truly cement-hearted cynics. It revolves around the charming and introverted 16-year-old Lara Jean, who pens secret love letters to all her crushes, which then get leaked. Chaos and romance ensues. …


After my 3rd break up, I’m finally realizing an unhealthy pattern

In 1964, Dean Martin released his version of the now-classic pop song “You’re Nobody Till Somebody Loves You.” I first heard the song during a kissing scene on the ’90s cult classic show “Freaks and Geeks,” and it immediately became one of my favorites. Some years later, “Sex and the City” addressed the song in a more cynical way.

“I can’t believe I used to like that song,” Carrie Bradshaw says to her GBF Stanford Blatch. “It’s the codependent national anthem.”

I’m thinking about the song again now…


Brian Rea — The New York Times

So in the end, almost a year and a half after the demise of our once loving, once thrilling and intimate relationship, I unfriended him.

I unfriended him on Facebook and on Snapchat. I unfollowed his almost defunct Twitter account. I unfollowed his unbearable trap-music ridden Spotify profile. (I admittedly kept the LinkedIn connection for future networking purposes.)

No longer would I see photos of his groomed designer dog, videos of Blue Apron meals simmering on his stove, his business trips to Asia. Reminders of a life I was decidedly and explicitly not a part of. …


Source for image: Chelsea Beck on TheAtlantic.com

I hit a breaking point a few weeks ago. I was on a first date with a devastatingly handsome boy who looked like a cross between a real-life Prince Eric from “The Little Mermaid”, Paolo from “The Lizzie McGuire Movie” and someone with a really good ass. He was a former Harvard baseball player with a healthy crop of dark brown tresses and a strong, athletic build, and when I first saw him I thought I had hit the online dating jackpot. At dusk, we sat atop a hill in a park near my house, and we watched the sun…

Jasmine Sachar

(I am large. I contain multitudes)

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