I love romance and romance loves me.

You probably still have a playlist someone burned for you years ago, or a card in a drawer that has moved house three times without being read.

Romance keeps its receipts. Whatever gets put into it comes back later in physical form: a ticket stub, a nickname, a particular route through a city that means something to two people only.

Loving it is a disposition more than a talent. Some people find the whole business embarrassing and opt out early, and then the returns stop arriving.

Whatever you have been sending into that account is still paying out quietly. Find one of the old receipts today.