Romance

Something has been tugging at my heartstrings as of late. And it absolutely does not help that I wish to listen to Disney love songs (with a few favorites from KOST 103.5) and to watch Shakespeare In Love. Pathetic, I know. But tell me, who are you to judge?

I've reached several revelations that I may have stumbled upon in the past, yet have not yet deeply considered them until now. Not until now did I just accept that there is something desirable in this thing called Love. How can one not? Looking around, watching couples exchange bodily secretions with no respect to the eyesight of an innocent passerby may make anyone who is (in)sane enough vomit. Unfortunately, it is this display of grotesquerie that common folk label "love." To make things short, this supposed "love" will end the next night once the poor girl finds the apple of her eye exchanging unmentionable fluids with another of her sex. But enough of that. What I speak of, and inevitably seek at this moment, is something that I define (with good intention) as Disney love.

Call me an idiot, call me insane, call me a child. I want that one person who seeks nothing more of me but my presence in his life. It is this realization that I try to avoid, try to hate. Growing up to abhor everything in the attempt to avoid silly views did nothing else but lead me in the opposite direction: to seek the unattainable ideal. To seek that prince.

But now I ask you to tell me what exactly is wrong with that. Perhaps I do set myself up for disappointment, having already realized that it is an unattainable ideal. Keep in mind, you speak to a realist who already pushes aside all emotion, only to realize that the lack thereof is what is making her grieve all the more. It is only her mere wish to feel some sort of passion in her life once again.

To be on a romantic rendezvous where the boy attempts to woo her with his gentlemanly manner, only to achieve his goal with his naiveté as his most charming aspect that night, is something short of very endearing. Perhaps his attempt to entice her with sweet ballads on the guitar, piano, or sax proves almost disastrous with her chuckles at his crooked jacket. Yet in the end, the sweetness of silence against his humming your favorite song while the two of you dance to a backdrop of darkness blanketed with stars is enough to stir the coldest of hearts.

Hell, the mere tabs of Endless Night and Beauty and the Beast are so damn well-formulated that tears trickle down the faces of many lonely girls out there. What more when a certain boy names a star after you? One may argue that men are just far too daft to think of things that can match the romance that is fed so early on to us of an oh-so-gentler nature. However, Landon Carter, graced to us by a certain Nicolas Sparks, was fictitiously capable enough to take Jamie Sullivan to two places at once. Sure, it may not be real, yet the existence of it in literature proves the impossibility of its impossibility.

In turn, to finally end this inane entry, there is nothing wholly wrong in wanting, in asking for that old-school type of romance.