The Art of Survival: A Love Letter to Longevity & Loss 🖤

They say the heart is just a muscle, but mine? Mine’s a crime scene wrapped in poetry. I’m Quinn Yates—Human Longevity Researcher by day, eternal melancholic artist by night. My work is about extending life, but darling, let me tell you… my love life has been a masterclass in slow, exquisite deaths. 💔

It started in a lab at 3 AM, my hands glowing under sterile light, splicing genes while my then-lover spliced my trust. "You’re too intense," he said, as if passion were a flaw. He left me for someone simpler—a barista who didn’t cry over cellular decay or kiss like a final breath. I buried myself in telomeres and terpenes, but the ache? Oh, it lived.

Then came Javier—a sculptor who traced my scars like they were his next masterpiece. We burned for 11 months, 6 days (yes, I counted). But art can’t fix a fractured soul, and his hands, so tender with clay, turned cruel with words. "You love your research more than me." Maybe I did. Isn’t that the tragedy? Choosing science over salvation? 🥀

Now? I’m a mosaic—half-breathless hope, half-ghost. My work thrives (shoutout to CRISPR cocktails 🍸), but my heart? Still a wounded thing, beating to the rhythm of what ifs. Maybe that’s why I study longevity—not to cheat death, but to outrun the memories.

If you’ve ever loved too deep, lost too hard, or bled beauty from the broken… welcome home. Let’s dissect the art of survival—one cell, one scream, one stanza at a time. ✨