Why do we “like” things? Why do we “heart” things? Does love mean swiping right? Does it mean holding the door for someone who has their hands full?
Maybe it's all of those things. Maybe we can’t define it.
"Pearl Smith did not trust a living soul. 'Living' is an important distinction because her one surviving relative was a wicked, degenerate nephew, while her primary confidant was her late third husband with whom she regularly spoke." A nurse's tales from an emergency room floor.
"Beautiful creature of the / stars! Let us tumble and fall / through the green and white foothills / pressing together between / the inky heavens and earth."