The lighthearted-yet-profound writing of Lisa Carver makes me happy. Here‘s one of her essays from last year, and here is one from last week.
All my life I’ve been in love on fire. Being in love felt like lava, or that I’d swallowed light, or had eaten something that didn’t agree with me. And I was always in love.
Now I’m not. Not with any men, not with new places, not even with writing anymore (!)
Nehaveigur 