ジャッキーの これ、どう思う？ While we're on the topic ...

Summer romance on the sidewalks? The scribble reads "Amy plus Chad = Love" JACKIE HOFFART PHOTO

Getting bitten by mosquitoes is an unavoidable aspect of summer life. It's too hot to totally cover ourselves up (and more fun to dress casually), so we expose our flesh and accept the consequences. And we get bitten.

It's the same with love.

In summer we are happier because of the sun's rays, we get tans so we look better, we are more physically active — we practically vibrate, and for all the right reasons. But we also tend to socialize more in summer than in any other season, which means we are more likely to meet someone. And, just like the way we deal with mosquitoes, sometimes it's too hot to be reserved, so we expose our flesh and accept the consequences. And sometimes we get bitten.

Summer romance is a tricky thing. I think it's mostly a made-up idea, perpetuated by movies like Grease and Dirty Dancing, but I have to admit there is some overlap between the cultural phenomenon and my own experience. My problem is that I'm not very good at the breezy casualness associated with summer flings.

When I meet someone I find interesting enough to flirt with, I generally don't want to toss them away when September comes around. Maybe it's just my personality, but I don't really half-invest in anything, so summer flings either turn into relationships or crash and burn.

I've recently experienced a romance that kind of got off the ground, but then slammed back down onto the runway, unable to go any further. Despite the brevity of the journey, it still managed to make a surprising impact on my tender heart.

So what happens when a summer fling turns into a summer heartache? The good news is there are usually plenty of ways to distract oneself this time of the year. As for me, I'm still in film school for another few weeks so I can throw myself into my work.

But I've been thinking. Perhaps the reason we use the heart as the metaphorical "source" of love is not because it is located in the very core of the body, and as such feels very central or essential, but because it pumps blood through the whole body and so it's tied up with everything we do — with every limb, with every organ, with every movement. So when we feel "heavy hearted," when we are experiencing the lonely echo of a love lost, sometimes the whole system shuts down. It can be hard to do even simple things when your heart is heavy. So — million-dollar question — how do you heal a broken heart?

They say never to scratch your mosquito bites or else they won't heal. But people don't admit that scratching a mosquito bite sometimes feels really good. It's one of those dirty little secrets we tend to keep to ourselves.

In this incredibly data-rich, hyperactive society we live in, which is full of ways to view but not really connect with the people in our lives, it can be extremely difficult to heal a broken heart. Checking Facebook becomes like scratching a mosquito bite. We know we shouldn't do it, but we do it anyway.

The kids at school call it "creeping," as in creeping through someone's profile. In North America, "creeper" calls to mind a sort of lonely, stalker-ish, but nonthreatening person staring sadly at the online profile of the person who broke their heart.

Increasingly, I've learned that I belong to an entire generation of creepers. It's a club no one admits belonging to, and yet everyone who spends a lot of time online will at some point or other creep.

And so we arrive at the scratching. The metaphor reaches the end of its useful life here, though, because unlike that illicit delight derived from a sneaky leg scratch, there is little or no pleasure to be derived from online voyeurism if the heart is still hurting.

So what are we left with? Thankfully, sunshine, long walks, long sleeps, good books, music or movies. . . and time. Summer may very well be a great time of the year to fall in love, but I have to admit that it might also be the best time of year to nurse a broken heart.

Next time: My topic is ... pets