It takes me two weeks to write a blog post. Work consumes me and what it finds indigestible becomes the mid-week left-overs for my daughter. I myself exist in the periphery of my own life, pushed to the furthest edge of a Sunday, which if you blink, turns into a new working week.
I really liked this, and if writing about love wasn’t completely out of my character, I’d personally – by way of a blog post – vouch for what it says here – with anecdotes on top. I may even do that. On a Sunday night.