I’m Y, 29, and I’ve started this blog because I’ve lost touch with something that once came easily…my imagination, my creativity, my sense of wonder.

I grew up on a farm, where my mind was my closest companion. My animals weren’t just animals; they had names, voices, entire lives of their own. I played detective, my farm dog racing beside me as we investigated crime scenes…a fallen bird, a misplaced object, the mysteries only a child’s mind could conjure. I’d hop on my bike and take off into the orchard, the wind against my face, my dog chasing close behind, tongue lolling, eyes bright with excitement. Back then, the world was endless, and I belonged to it completely.

But getting older brings surprises, and somewhere along the way, I lost that wander, that hunger for something more. I lost touch with romance too.

Romance. The word itself feels like a blade against my wrist. I believe you only truly love a handful of people in your life…seats on the highest pedestal, reserved only for those who battle their way into your heart. My first love earned his seat in my early 20s, and, maybe, because of him, I cannot love like I once did. Romance, to me, became a sour apple—rings, flowers, whispered promises… lies. I scoff at it.

But recently, someone else reached for that pedestal. He made me feel something familiar, something close to love. And I let it slip through my fingers. I mistook soft petals for sharp blades and held my shield too high.

So here I am, trying to find what I’ve lost. Creativity, wonder, love…the things that once made the world feel bigger than myself. This blog is where I put it all, unfinished and imperfect, but real.

In other words, bitches get dumped and start blogs.