I’m just going to come out and confess it right now: I’m a total, sappy, horrible romantic.
Sure, I try and be tough. I mock the plots of romantic comedies for all their ridiculousness, all the improbability of it all… but you can bet I’m crying the very hardest when they finally get that kiss at the end. You can bet I’m clutching my seat, hoping and waiting for the moment when, in the end, it’s all okay.
But here’s the problem with love stories: I don’t want to believe in them anymore. I want to be realistic, only want to believe in the things that I can see. And this “love” business? I don’t know that I see it. Sure, on the screen. Sure, on the page. Sure. But in real life? I see relationships. I don’t see love.
I put on my sarcastic smile, snort and chuckle at the things that used to make my heart weep. And the real reason for all that? Well, it’s partly because some romantic comedies are just too ridiculous to fall for. But it’s mostly because I’m trying to cover up the fact that on the inside I’m still falling for it.
I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but I just can’t seem to stop believing in love stories. Of course, I don’t think things happen the way they do in the movies. But I think that at 19 years old, I’m probably a little premature if I say I’m giving up. There’s a lot more to life, maybe, than falling in love. Or following through with what you might feel, something I’ve never been very good at. I’ve got plenty of dreams that I’m going to make come true with or without a hand to hold. But at the same time, I admit, it might be nice to have a hand to hold all the same.
I’m through with roses, with chocolates, with necklaces I’m expected to wear whether or not they match my outfit. I’m through with silly notes and big displays of affection. Those things are all great in theory, but the thing is, chocolates melt, roses die, and sometimes that stupid necklace just doesn’t look right. Plus, whoever said I liked roses? I mean, is there a rule that all girls have to like roses? Here’s the thing, I like lilies. Pink lilies. If you really want to impress me, try bringing some of those around. Wear a sweater vest. Just address me by name.
Guys always seem to think that girls who believe in love stories want to live one. I could do without an airport scene, or kissing on the top of buildings or in the rain. I could do without you laying on some thick speech about loving me. Why don’t you just hold my hand, save the “I love you” because I’m sick of hearing it, and just show it instead?
You’ll notice I’ve started saying “you”. Well, maybe I’ve got someone in mind and maybe I don’t, but I hardly want you (the reader) to think I’m expecting you to come find me and confess your love for me (please don’t, that’d be weird).
Mostly I just want to say, I think it’s okay to believe in love stories every now and again. What’s the harm in it? Maybe it leads to some lonely nights, but it’s better than letting your heart crust over so all you can do is laugh in their faces. Love’s not like love in the movies, so don’t expect that. I expect laughter, long conversations, maybe a bit of physical attraction. I don’t expect a script. That’s why love stories are love stories and life is life.