Am I crazy? When did love stop being so romantic? When did being in love mean heart-aches all the time? When did love begin to instate bouts of insomnia, curable only by exhausting tears? When, love?
When it gets to that point, does that mean you're in love, or does it mean you should be out of it? No longer high-school rules, you're forced to consider, think, mull over, analyze and calculate what love is; but that's not what love is about. My heart still yearns for the romantic--the mornings filled with flowers and the evenings scattered with petals. I can catch glimpses of such, but they're ever elusive and never consistent. Promises of futures that have always been too far away. Novels dwindled into stories shortened to paragraphs abbreviated into sentences leaving only the skeletons of words. He who fights for her who wants nothing more but to come back.
Perhaps my biggest mistake is having grown up still believing in fairytales, dreams come true, and happily ever after.
But to not believe means you've given up; I'd never forgive myself for giving up on love.
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