A Last Kiss in February
- bookwitchsaenz
- Feb 28
- 2 min read

Alas! We are about to bid farewell to February, the month of love, and while normally people go the extra mile to embrace love and romance, this year I feel like there was a war on love. (Can't possibly imagine why...*sarcasm*...) Book bans, anti-LGBTQ laws, ICE everywhere, the world is sorely lacking in love right now. I've been doing a lot of ruminating about why some people are so morally opposed to romance and by extension spicy romance.
Literature connoisseurs despise romance. Creative Writing majors turn their nose up at it. And don't even think about mixing genre romances into the mix. A publishing house even announced loud and proud that they are #sickofthesmut.

The rabbit hole is expansive, and before I get us all lost down the wrong one, let me zero-in on what I think the root of this problem is. But let's start with the question:
Why are people so threatened by romance books?
Well:
💞Romance teaches us that love is empowering, not oppressing. In a healthy relationship, all parties involved should be empowered by the relationship. No one is more important or subservient to the other. This is in direct opposition to the "wholesome family life." The father is the head of the household, his sons are brought up to be princes. Meanwhile, mothers and daughters exist to fulfill the needs of their male counterparts.
💞Romance teaches us that love is not a currency; it is unbounded and depthless.
💞Romance teaches us that true love is freedom in the arms of respect and recognition.
No one should cage themselves for love, and romance novels remind us to break the chains we've been weighed down by.
So, whatever your favorite poison, drink your fill. Read your smut. Read your sweet romances. Read your stories that so threaten the patriarchy that little boys seek to burn our book boyfriends and girlfriends. Take your happiness from the pages because they were written for you, not for those who would have you shrink yourself to fit inside a neat little gift box that wasn't made of you.
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