actually, romance isn’t dead

An open letter to the person who says romance is dead,

Carry on, dear soul.

Romance may be dead for you. 

I must be one of the fortunate. I collide into romance daily; in rare, heartfelt cinematic moments; my friends’ lives; stories shared with me; the daily good morning and good evening text from my friend; sweet, little gestures I see walking in the city.

My partner pulls me close as we sleep through the night; sweet talks to me during the day, holds hands as we walk down the street; kisses me waist deep in a lake; tumbles me into her lap; spanks me as I walk past; kisses me behind the ears, that oh so sweet spot on my shoulder.

I’ve flirted with strange girls at dance clubs who stared into my eyes with sultry gazes, bought sparkly sexy drinks, dressed up cute, had others dress up cute for me, admired my partner in a suit and new hair cut, sauntered down the riverwalk at night enjoying gelato, fled through the rain with a lover, randomly explored a random neighborhood with my girlfriend, indulged in outrageous displays of public affection.

I’ve popped down to the hot tub in the evening at a moment’s notice, relaxed along many, many road trips across the country while partner touches my leg, waist, whatever he can reach, every now and again; kiss my forehead in the dark as they whisper a “goodbye” and a “see you very soon” in the same breath.  I remember the first kiss, too.  Sweeter than any sugary confection was the first time he whispered, “I love you.”  I thought I’d imagined it, until I heard it the second time in my silver convertible as we sped down the highway.  After that, the “I love yous” fell freely, or, well, for him. 

Am I so lucky, or is my memory failing me, in finding partners capable of romance and love?  Lovers that speak my love languages. Partners that daily prove their commitment to our relationship.  Girlfriends that remember the little things. Or did I steal away all the good men and women?

Oops, no, I forgot I’m polyamorous! Go ahead and date my awesome partners, please!

At any rate, I know it isn’t true.  I haven’t made up my romantic life.  And it isn’t only me.  I see romance in television series and movies— will you insist to me that romance is the stuff of scripts, but those same writers are unable to demonstrate love in their own lives?  Surely you’ll grant that one or two of the more sophisticated among the writing class have the mysterious ability to both say a thing and act upon it.

Romance finds me everywhere, even in my dreams.  I was on a boat and I ran around very stressed out and garlands of deflated balloons and toothbrushes hung from the ballroom ceiling. I told an old friend they were part of a pulley system. I think that’s romantic. 

Of course I have my dry spells.  I might find myself in need of requesting a date night.  I might find a beautiful damsel with which to flirt.  I have my ways.

Romance is dead? Perhaps we’re not looking for it very hard.


A Very Loved And Loving Kitten

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