This is Why You Can’t Find Love

In the kindest way

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You have a beautiful way of compartmentalizing companions. You’re organized: sharp, smartly filofaxing and label-making through life. I like how meticulous you are. You honor your word: a label is a label, a promise never broken. So you rarely promise, but you always label.

Within milliseconds of a first meeting, you pull out that trusty brown box and tuck in the people you meet firmly. Inside, they land on the hard-as-bones “honesty” you use as a shield with a thud.

Then, you label that box. Those labels are meant to stick, and they usually do. Friends as Friends, family as Family, and the people you fancy as Trouble.

You label before you can be labeled — because labels are a kind of truth you want spoken into existence

It’s all an effort to be safe. We all want safety, I understand that in you. It’s safe when everything is tidy, clean. No feelings scattering across the blue like stars in the sky for you to wish upon once, then once more.

No love, no hate, just a word or an idea. A curated idea — one that doesn’t turn into action, but exists nonetheless as something static. Something unmoved by time or effort.

You honor your word: a…