Dirty Headlines

by L.J. Shen

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.” —William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Every day in the newsroom is a battle. Every night in his bed, war. But it’s my heart at stake, and I fear I’ll be raising the white flag.

“Organs, Jude, are like people. They need company, a backup to rely on. That’s why we have lungs, tonsils, hands, legs, fingers, toes, eyes, nostrils, teeth, and lips. Only the heart works alone. Like Atlas, it carries the weight of our existence on its shoulders quietly, only rebelling when disturbed by love.”

“Semi-drunk and conventionally beautiful: a predator’s wet dream.”

I’m talking Chris Pine perfect, Chris Hemsworth mammoth, and Chris Pratt charming. He was a triple-C threat, and I was S.C.R.E.W.E.D.

And this is the part they don’t tell you about losing a loved one to cancer: They’re not the only people being eaten alive. When they get it, you get it. The cancer nibbles away at your time with them, feasts on the happy moments, feeds off every second of bliss. It devours your paycheck and savings. It nourishes itself on your misery and multiplies in your chest, even if you don’t have it.

Misery has a way of pulling you down and drowning you in it. It’s sweet and suffocating, like a lullaby, soothing you to sleep.

love was not a chess game. It was Twister. You got all wrapped up and stumbled over your own feet, but that was part of its charm.