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Excerpt of To the new boyfriend by Rudy Fransisco

 "but my definition of love is being robbed in an alley 8 times in a row and hoping there’s something about today that makes all of this different. There is nothing logical about cutting off the most important parts of yourself then putting them inside hands that shake, that tremble, that crack like a hatian sidewalk.

Four, there is nothing rational about love. Love stutters when it gets nervous, love trips over its own shoelaces. Love is clumsy, and my heart doesn’t wear a helmet.

Four, cupid is fucking irresponsible, and I’m tired of him using me for target practice. 

Five, I was told that time would heal all wounds. But what exactly do you do on days when it feels like the hands on your clock have arthritis?"

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