You're bleeding on people who didn't cut you. That's the whole mess right there. The unprocessed grief from the last one ... the ex who said you were too much, or not enough, or the one who just stopped texting one Tuesday like you were a subscription they forgot to cancel ~ all of it sits in your cells, coded and pulsing, and when you swipe right on that stranger who likes dogs and tacos, you're not meeting them. You're meeting the ghost of everyone before. The body knows the score long before the mind catches up. Maybe your throat tightens when someone new asks about your last relationship. Maybe your stomach drops when your phone buzzes with a match notification. Excitement? Maybe. But underneath that ... the subtle tremor of dread. The nervous system scanning for threat. Is this one going to abandon me too? The vagus nerve doesn't understand swiping. It only understands safety or danger. And after heartbreak, the whole dating terrain looks like a minefield painted with candlelit dinners. Let's get forensic about this. Not because I want to poke your wounds, Beautiful Soul, but because walking into the temple of new love with mud on