When you mourn your loss of religion, not because you miss the idea of a gendered god or the comfort of having a central text instead of many, but because you now realize its most salient principle: a clear discernment of whom and what to love and how to love them. You go through your day falling in love with the dead leaves as you pull them out from under two layers of vines while trimming the English ivy on your fence, with your children and your friends’ children as they play together and watch Trollhunters and one of them tells you all about The Martian and how it’s an adult movie because the guy on Mars uses the f-word like four times and also the sh-word some too, with various images on social media of people you’ve known when you were both different people but you found each other on Facebook to remind yourselves that you love each other despite the fact that you never ever write on each other’s timelines or communicate in any active way, with all the people you hear about every day who kill themselves or are brutalized by cops or betrayed by a spouse or their own bodies’ unique chemistry. And then at the end of the day you’ve done maybe half of what you set out to do because you spent so much of your time in love with the world, so you write about those loves to record them, to put them into words and to get these words to look back at you, to love you back.

What are the Sneaky Feels?

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AuthorJohn Proctor