by Anne O'Connor
This week I wrote a love letter to my community.
I wrote about missing you all so much during this wild time. And I posted it on my private Facebook page. You can read it below this post.
Some wondered if I was missing a particular person—a lover who was at the center of all the things on the list.
Let me just say this now: If such a man exists and he’s single, will you introduce me?
Reading my letter as a romantic tribute to a lover I long for makes sense. We are so prepped for that interpretation. And that isn’t wrong. It just wasn’t the whole story.
What I wrote is a collection of all the love that I have or have had in my life. And yes, part of that is a longing for a particular lover. People heard my heart.
I have been and am well-loved. That is a treasure I hold with tender and careful hands.
Love, though, has as many lines as there are on your palm. Some are deep and long, some are hard to even see. Some lines run the whole distance....
There’s been a bit of a dust-up in my small town since town leaders decided that all plantings on the boulevards have to go: no flowers, no shrubs, no bushes, no rocks—everything has to be pulled out. A group of residents is working to get a more reasonable stance negotiated with the city.
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