I feel many things

when it comes to romance,

though I haven’t felt it myself

**Awe**, in the idea of it all—

the shared whispers,

the intimacy and trust,

the emotion that’s conveyed

in a single glance

**Disgust**, the loathing that arises

at the thought of _me_ in another’s arms,

of the shared whispers,

of the joined hands and lips

**Desire**, at the same time—

the want, the need

to be loved, ...

It’s the middle of November and I’m trudging through three feet of snow because, much to my dismay, bodies don’t bury themselves.

The wind is freezing cold and relentless, whipping lines of red into my cheeks, the frozen ground crunching with every step. I readjust my grip on the shovel, swallowing back tears as I once again try (and fail) to drive it into the dirt. The weight of what I’ve done r...