Romance is dead

Or so I say. It died with the electronic cigarette and the rechargeable book and the smart dildo.

"Find what you love and let it kill you." That was Charles Bukowski's advice, and he was hardly a romantic. It's a simple implication: love is dangerous, it will kill you, and you should let it. But today the prospect of dying for love, however abstract, is seen as an infraction of individualism. No! You must love yourself more than anything worth dying for. That is the secret, they say, to loving completely: that unless you're willing to save yourself first, you are incapable of love. You've heard them say it. You've seen their affected looks, their begging eyes: "Please love me. Please die for me."

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