As a young adult navigating the intricacies of modern existence, I find myself disenchanted with the realm of explicit material (smut), which, in its essence, constructs unattainable sexual ideals and breeds insecurity. Such portrayals, though tantalizing in their artifice, are mere scripts of desire, far removed from the genuine essence of love.

True love, in its most profound form, is a tapestry woven with threads of beauty and complexity, encompassing both the chaotic and the sublime. It is an experience that, while resonant and deeply fulfilling, inevitably carries with it moments of pain, uncertainty, and imperfection-not in the form of violence or cruelty, but as a natural consequence of human vulnerability and emotional depth.

I am indeed a Jane Eyre enjoyer.