Rebecca Cao

For two semesters (one too many, if you ask me), I’ve studied the 14th-century book El Libro de Buen Amor in my Spanish Literature courses. It translates as The Book of Good Love, which is ironic because the author explores many different types of love — chaste, carnal, platonic — but doesn’t conclude definitively which is the “good” love. I’m thinking about this now, because I decided to write a post on love, yet I can’t even define what love is. Even when narrowed to the romantic realm, love is so varied in its manifestations. Therefore, I shall attempt only to write about the love that I have learned and tasted in my relationship with Phineas.

Apparently, love is unromantic. Oh, believe me, I’ve done the whole turn-the-oversized-gutter-into-a-balcony-and-gaze-up-at-the-night-sky-in-each-other’s-arms thing. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven, but you now what? That wasn’t love. Love isn’t premeditated and…

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