Here’s another clue. Thank you, brilliant writing and truly great art in general, for expressing the ineffable and getting it right.
I’m sitting here tonight, wondering what’s the thing to accept and the thing to reject: Love ends, love hurts, love doesn’t work out because even if it does, it doesn’t. But does that mean that we shouldn’t make the gallant attempt, go all nine yards? Be really, really, really kind to each other.
Where is love? Does it fall from stars above? Is it underneath the willow tree, that I’ve been dreaming of? Fuck Sex in the City. Fuck Gossip Girl. Fuck Law and Order and Seinfeld and the Seventies. Fuck open marriages, and Hip-Hop, and Tom Cruise. Fuck greedy leaders. Fuck you all. Give me back my my butterflies, my weak knees, my love poems, my midnight summer drives, my silent forest lapses into sleep, my sweet kisses. Give me back my old-fashioned love.