I am terribly smitten with the book I am reading (see last postlette) and it has invited me back to a place and a time where I was once a daydreamer. Many were as children, some are as adults, but much about that side of me has been blanketed under cotton quilts.
I have hidden layers of identity under layers of pretense. One such secret…I am a romantic.
This has become a fluff word, full of cheap Hallmark honey, so it’s not something I bandy about. But the language, the craftmanship of storied love is where I was born and I’ve done a lot to stifle this.