Sunday, March 17, 2013
To be a romantic
I am a hopeless romantic. And sometimes, that's not a good thing. Being a romantic is like having a disease. It involves living in a world of unrealistically high expectations after watching a movie or reading a book and being thoroughly, unsettlingly disappointed with the mundane present. It means smiling to yourself when you see a dog sleeping in the sun and being at the receiving end of weird looks from people who happen to see that. It means walking into a cafe, ordering something, and settling into the cornermost seat with a quaint book in your hand and not wanting to leave for hours. It is this strange urge to be anonymous in a city that you know too well. It is this dangerous readiness to trust. To please. To give. To be hurt. And then to repeat. It is this constant struggle to fight back a lump in your throat on random incidents, texts, videos, book snippets, pictures on a daily basis. This constant need to be touched and known and understood at a new level each day. This craving to be someone different and better each day. It is never satisfied. You live your life as if you're on a trip, a holiday, or wanting to be on a holiday, and nothing, absolutely nothing, is real enough.