I 🖤 Utah, and by "🖤" I mean the specific shade of emotional void you reach at 9pm on a Saturday when you want a drink and the rules say "lol, no." It's love, sure, but it's the kind of love that's been through the inversion. That brown soup that settles over the valley every January and turns your lungs into a science experiment? Black heart energy. The guy who cut you off doing 95 in the canyon with six kids and a boat? Black heart energy.
But then the snow dumps, the red rock glows at sunset, and you remember why you put up with the sauce obsession, the funeral potatoes, and paying extra for a soda with nine syrups in it. Toxic relationship, ten out of ten, would move here again.
Cut from soft, durable fabric that holds its shape through canyon wind, church parking lots, and the full four seasons we get in a single Tuesday. Comfortable enough to wear hiking, napping, or avoiding eye contact at the grocery store.
