I have a giant Twitter crush. In fact, I have more than one giant Twitter crush. The problem with Twitter is that it is a window into the sexiest thing about someone: their mind. The extra problem with Twitter is that it’s a curated space – people use their Twitter accounts to tell jokes and stories, or post funny pictures of weird things they’ve done. In short: it’s a place where all the guys I would usually fancy get to show off the things I am most attracted to.

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“Remember how you used to sniff my knickers while you had a wank?”

“Yep.”

“Do you still do that?”

“Nope.”

And thus my heart was broken.

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When you’re here all the time, I forget who I am on my own. I paint a picture of myself that includes you and it messes around with the truer picture of what I’m actually like.

So this week, while you’re away, I’ve spent the time remembering.

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On Sunday morning when I slipped back into bed, I realised something: your body changes on a daily basis, and so I will never know every inch of it. It is always new.

From the scent of you, to the heat you radiate, to the marks and curves that come and go: I will never know every detail of your body.

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I’m not going to say the word. The V word. The one that’ll have half of you clicking away and the other half vomiting copiously onto the carpet.

But what I am going to do is write about non-sexual love. The love that I usually ignore here in favour of hot sex or wanking or – very occasionally – posts about men who give me that warm feeling in my chest.

Other kinds of love are often neglected – it’s the topic of one of my favourite posts over at BishUK: more than one love. He talks about everything and everyone we love but we never send cards to or buy roses for. Friends, family, community – the people who support and inspire and care for us.

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