The most sensible strategy, if you want to win someone back, is probably a combination of loving words and powerful actions: promise change, show how you’re working on that, tell me you love me, and remind me of all the things that I can’t help but love about you. That’s a pretty good strategy, right there, if you’re wedded to the idea of having one. There are two others, though, and enough time’s passed on each that I reckon it’s OK for me to tell the following stories. The first one is romantic, the second is horny as fuck.

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Right now there is someone I am missing. And because of the kind of stories I usually write, I imagine you think the next thousand words are going to describe a kind of urgent, aching desperation for them. Fair enough, I write that stuff so often. The intensity. The horn. The trembling need for somebody that borders occasionally on similar tingles to ‘fight or flight’. I want to fly to him, then fight him naked on a big soft bed before tumbling into sweaty giggles. That sort of thing. I do it so much that my fingers almost instinctively want to type that story, but this one’s different. The way I am missing this person right now is softer and calmer than that.

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The next chapter of this story happens when I’m probably in the middle of a breakdown. Perhaps it’s the way my life has been lately – an agony of paranoia and mistrust – that’s causing me to make some dodgy decisions. But this particular decision led to something good, I think. As helpful as it can be to hear ‘I love you’ in times of hardship, ‘I trust you’ healed my heart right now.

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There’s this guy I’m going to see on Saturday, with whom I am definitely not going to have sex. I imagine from the way I’ve phrased that sentence, and anything you might already know about me, that you can surmise this is a man with whom I would very much like to have sex. But I am not going to have sex with him. No matter how good he smells. No matter how deeply I yearn for his perfect, perfect dick. I am definitely not going to have sex with him, and that’s final.

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Love does not write in pencil on your heart, it’s permanent. Impossible to erase. Sure, it might one day turn to hatred or disgust, like fresh wounds becoming twisted scars long after they were first carved into your flesh. But you don’t forget it easily. Love can change and it can die, you can lose it or throw it away or cure yourself of the cravings for it like a powerful addiction… but you can’t just erase it altogether.

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