On Love, by Alain de Botton.

This was one of my favorite books I have ever read. I don’t know how to explain the finger scrunching my bottom lip, the monologue with myself, the pink pen ink that spilled from the page to my fingers. It was an endearing thing double-wrapped and sealed with lessons and considerations and different ways to apply all of it. I thought of my best friends, I thought of my family as I read this — wondering where the distinction is drawn between feeling this way with a lover and feeling this way with the extensions of yourself. I’m in awe of this book, and I do hope you take the time to experience it too.

(Please) Purchase here.