The Modern Love column is one of the few places where the art of broken-heartedness, and love in all its forms, is given proper space, at least once a week, in the respectable newspaper of New York. We would like to write there one day, too. It just seems like something romantic has to happen first.

By midnight, we’d already spent an hour canoodling in the dark corner of a salsa bar, and another hour rolling around half-naked on his building’s roof, Metro-North trains rumbling a few blocks away. I had no idea if I’d ever see him again, and inhaled every minute of the most uninhibited fun I’d had in years.

When we finally reached his apartment, I realized what I’d missed by marrying at 23. His bedroom was one of those only-in-New-York creations carved out of the living room — no windows, walls that didn’t reach the ceiling. Looking for a safe space to lay my pearl necklace and earrings, I knew I was a long way from my former five-bedroom colonial in the suburbs./.../

I worried that maybe I shouldn’t be playing this game with a heart that would never quite heal. But this I now know: People we love come, and they frequently go. What matters is staying open: to possibility, to connection, to hope.

Photos: the lovely Jenny Mörtsell and Sozi