Thrift Store Flannel:
There is plenty I do not know about love. It would be easier to list all the things I do know. Everywhere I have looked, it has been the same. Fairy tales, movies, books—love is made out to be some highly fictitious concept that sits pretentiously on a pedestal always out of reach. At first, it feels as though love is some grand idea I am unable to grasp. Second thoughts leave me with the notion love is just an island with a civilization on one side and a seemingly deserted beach on the other where I have been shipwrecked and rendered hopeless. All I have to do is wield my way through the jungle, creating my own path instead of following some example set forth by the likes of Hollywood. It is a journey, an adventure, a quest to prove myself. The jungle is a treacherous place, my friends. Little did I know just how dangerous it was until I set forth, proverbial machete of willpower in one hand and a flask of burning truth in the other, on my yearlong crusade without sex to find the greatest love of all—the love of self.