Iris Two years ago the romantic part of my life died, literally. Maybe that sounds hyperbolic—you’re picturing an endless line of doordashers at my door and judgey Netflix constantly asking, “Are you still watching?” And sure I get delivery some nights and binge watch my fair share of TV. But, I’m also a twenty-seven-year-old widow and I’m not looking for my second chance at love, laughter, or happily ever after. Unfortunately, that doesn’t keep me out of a club on Valentine’s Day for a Singles Event—Willow, I think you might have to name your first born after me for making me wear this dress… I might not be looking, but you might find me watching. Sawyer I’m not a relationship guy. Not anymore. You want someone to hold your hand? Go talk to the boy next door. You want to see stars? Come find me at the club. And find me they do in droves. So someone explain to me why I haven’t been able to focus on anyone but her since I walked in tonight and she couldn’t care less. One accidental taste sends me reeling. Maybe one night will fix this feeling in my chest