Hopeless Romantic

I have never been the kind of person to display publicly any sign of deep emotion. I guess it just never came as something naturally to me. I mean, of course it would show when I was happy or sad, but you could never really know exactly what was going on. I actually liked it that way.

Because in reality I was a hopeless romantic. Daydreaming for hours about old-fashioned love encounters. Kissing in the rain, meeting at a bar, or in a dark alley, unending nights talking about things that actually mattered, and, of course, the unforgettable declaration of love. Real cheesy. But I couldn't help myself.

I read uncountable books on the subject. Watched tons of different movies regarding romanticism. And in every different situation, I imagined myself in that place. Feeling the tingling sensation of the first kiss, how my stomach would flip just by feeling their mere presence. The countless butterflies in my stomach, showing my nervousness despite how much I told myself that everything was okay because I shouldn't be nervous. After all, this was the person I'd soon fall in love with. Once again, hopeless romantic.

It was okay, though. I read my books and watched my movies.

And I seriously doubted that any of this could in fact happen to me. My luck has never been the best.

 But, now, I actually hope. I hope and hope and see what happens. I live where I thought there was no more living to do because the world is a tragic and sad place. When it's not. Or at least not thoroughly.

I think my romanticism gave some type of hope. I mean, if people could write about such beautiful actions and emotions, the place and environment we live in couldn't be all that bad, right?

No, it couldn't.

I'm still hoping, and I'm still daydreaming. Because -God- I think its just relieving to firmly believe that something that good can actually happen. But that's just me. And I like to hold on to the little hope. Even if nobody else realizes that I, indeed, do have emotions.