A (hopeless) romantic

Even if it’s just you, a table for two, a candle, some greenery, a tasty meal, good conversation and of course a bottle of red wine…and I’ll be smitten because I’m a hopeless romantic.

A walk on the beach with you, an occasional wave lapping over our sandy toes, a sea breeze filing our nostrils with saltiness. Going untouched places, we lose track of time and leave a pair footprints in the sand. This makes me happy because I’m a hopeless romantic.

I make a big fuss about date night, making sure there’s something special about the evening. In the inevitable deep conversations that ensue, I’ll linger on words and get carried away with what might happen instead of what’s meant to happen, because I’m a hopeless romantic.

I ponder your imperfections, the baggage you carry and the pillars of your life, somewhat crumbling. It brings me down, but I remind myself that I’m not looking for the perfect person, I’m seeking someone with attributes dear to me, because I’m a hopeless romantic.

I feel your pain as my own even when you’re not around, like a heavy vibration from across the plains. I want to stop everything I’m doing and fix it so we can be in harmony again. Instead, I write you a love letter because I’m a hopeless romantic.

You and I have a fight, a disagreement, a light skirmish. I’m both attracted to and astounded by your passion as you argue your points, eyes dancing with fire among the icy delivery. There are tears, but I’m in my protective shell, because I think someone has to appear strong in that moment. I stand my ground somewhat but concede on many levels, because I’m a hopeless romantic.

We make up and everything feels right again. No, better than right, we’ve progressed, we’ve leveled up. The world is brighter now. It was a difficult time, but I’d like to believe we are better for it and the issues are in the past. Always pursuing a happy ending, because I’m a hopeless romantic.

The sands of time march on and that tiny wedge between us, seemingly removed, reveals itself again. Issues resurface and they have evolved, morphed into uglier things. You are properly upset and I don’t have the answers. But I love hard, believing somehow everything will work out because I’m a hopeless romantic.

I perceive mistreatment, highly sensitive to the imbalance we find ourselves in. The hurt manifests in bizarre ways and I act out of character, pushing you away. You scribble the writing on the wall for us, but I don’t read it, because I’m a hopeless romantic.

We break up and I’m lost in a sea of emotion. If only’s and what if’s doing laps in my head, creating a deafening roar only I can hear. I cling on to that thread of hope, the hope that you will see the light, because I’m a hopeless romantic.

But shine as I may, you don’t see it, or chose not to. We go separate directions, paths only crossing for awkward social interactions. But in the pursuit of love and happiness, I realise I’m actually just hopeless and romantically inadequate.