A conversation on love with Cheryl Strayed (part one)
I think about what love looked like for me this year.
This year love is gross. It’s the slug trails of Vega and Joni’s snot on Dan’s black t-shirt, cleaning sick out of car seatbelt buckles and scraping cold fish pie off the floor. One day Dan comes home to find me holding a potty of wee next to a urine colour chart on my phone to assess if it could symb…