I started reading the NYT’s “Modern Love” columns this summer. For those unfamiliar, “Modern Love” is a series of “deeply personal essays about contemporary relationships, marriage, dating, [and] parenthood” and other intimate topics written on a weekly rotation. “Love” in the context of this column is all-encompassing. Love for a pet, love for a parent, love for yourself. The openness with which each author shares a story allows even readers like me, without shared similar experiences, to connect with each piece and each emotion as though it was their own.

At Yale, as many before me have noted, it’s rare to find such raw feeling emanating from people, except maybe between the hours of 1 and 5 a.m. Thursday-Saturday and with a lot of liquid encouragement, or in the company of very close friends. As a “society of friends,” we seem to be selective, sometimes to a fault, on how much to expose ourselves — emotionally, that is.

Let’s change that. We’ve all read about hook-up culture, DFMOs at Toad’s and sex signals, but let’s make things a little more personal. Tell us about your relationship, whether it’s lasted three dates or three years. Tell us about love for your hometown, your parents, your foreign-summer-someone, your dog, your buttery’s chocolate chip cookies. Tell us your fears about ending up a spinster, about life after Yale, about heartbreak. Love in this column, as in “Modern Love,” should include whatever you want it to. Posts should be submitted by Fridays at 5pm and should run between 250-500 words in whatever style you like, so long as the topic is about love in the time of Yale. Submit as you, submit as your suitemate (kidding!), submit anonymously (if you must), to weekendlovenotes@gmail.com.