II don’t know about you, but I don’t have any particular person to write love letters to. And on some days, even writing my daily journal entry to my God of True Love feels a little pointless. At least, it did when I was still extremely angry with True Love for allowing me to fall in love with a person who could break my heart so shamelessly. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still write my little love letters in my journal — even if I don’t know who will eventually read them; even if nobody at all eventually reads them. Because I think the best part about a love letter is simply the experience of putting your true feelings out there. I mean, what’s the alternative? To bottle those feelings up, like so much gassy pressure that will ultimately explode on you in sudden and undesirable ways? No, thank you. I would rather release that emotional pressure in a steady stream of words on a page, and find some semblance of order and meaning in them, than allow them to overtake my physical body and run the risk of poisoning me from the inside out.  To me, a love lettersimply means a true letter. Sometimes my words on the page are ugly, angry, lonely, and enormously self-pitying. But at the end of the day, they’re just the equivalent of a rush hour traffic jam. All I can do is sit with my uncomfortable feelings until the lanes lighten up, and the way home becomes clear and free again. ❤️‍🔥 —Y.B.D.