This is going to hurt. And I’m sorry, but it needs to.
We know so little of love. We place it safe in our palms, away from the eyes of everyone else. We consult it briefly when a child is born, but squeeze it tighter in our fists to hide it from onlookers.
Hate, we open our fists for. We insult and physically harm without thought. We turn into generous creatures, giving of ourselves far more than we might have had we just known love. We change the very definitions of love and hate when we don’t want to face our own sins. Of which we have many. But we’re allowed to keep those to ourselves.
This is the story of Ezra Vasher. He loved passionately. Instinctively.
It didn’t matter. We need to remember. We need not forget.
By the end, what color will your heart be?
Very adult themes.
Set in secessionist Texas.