“I’m aromantic,” I tell her.
“I’m asexual.
I have nothing to offer you.
To you, I am worthless.”
She raises my chin with her soft fingers,
“Oh, but you do.”
She points to my chest.
“Can you hear it beat?
There’s love in that heart.”
“It may not be sexual.
It may not be romantic.
But perhaps it exists in a different form.
Perhaps your love is a shape that cannot be defined.”
I look to Aphrodite,
For the comfort that there is love in my heart
And there is love for me to receive.
Even if it’s just from me, to me.
That love is there,
And it is gold.
I look to Aphrodite
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