Evolving Hopeless Romantic

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For as long as I’ve been on this earth, I have been a hopeless romantic, and the worst kind too. My entire teenage-hood was enveloped in countless imaginative encounters with “The One” and quite literally running off to be happily together. In my mind, there wasn’t anything love couldn’t resolve or mend. And it was pure, my creations were simply filled with happiness and connecting with another human on a level that was so palpable it oozed out of a lover’s stare; the sort of connection strangers envy when they notice the uncontrollable longing gaze and drunken smiles. Ohhh to be in love. 

My thoughts were constantly solidifying and shifting. When I visited Paris, I immediately imagined a life in which we would discuss culture, linger by the Seine and make love in an apartment riddled with history and a balcony opened to the cacophony of the French language and streets.

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I can even remember a very early memory when I was 13, road-tripping Colombia with my family, and spinning tales in my head, as I stood in a strangely calm beach, facing the sun and wishing he were here to share this with me. Wishing, always wishing. 

I would imagine setting goals for myself, thinking “at the age of 15 he will come abound and it will be like a movie.” 

16, young love, so full of budding experiences and discoveries. 

17, almost graduating, perhaps next year, next year will be the year. 

The countless hours I spent daydreaming about a made up “type,” one who was so perfect there wasn’t a single chance of anything ever going wrong.

As I aged, my hopelessly romantic thoughts accompanied me. I would jump from one fruitless relationship to the next, thinking each time he was the golden ticket, when I had completely blinded myself of the lack of communication and interests we didn’t share. There was even a point in which I would internally brag that I was able to like anyone, because my powerful ability of seeing only what I WANTED to see, was superior.

And I aged…and I was hurt. 

And I started to fretfully remain hopeful, but my consciousness was turning my ancient idealizations into delusions. 

I began to tire. 

I was becoming less hopeful as I saw the majority around me succumbing to tasteless hook ups and bizarre mechanisms of impeding attachment. The plague of being cold and NOT showing emotion was the norm, god forbid you express your sentiments to someone you sleep with, a big unspoken no no. I slowly started jumping on the bandwagon, I thought “perhaps this is just another way, I can try this.” So I did, I would dutifully dedicated hours to swiping, chatting, and meeting. I even went as far as to attempt a passionate detached relationship that left me completely destroyed. My adaptation to the hookup culture was a disaster. I was incapable of bottling my emotions and keeping it strictly physical. My head wasn’t able to separate emotions from physicality and it drove me mad. I couldn’t keep quiet if I was feeling uncomfortable and if I did, my thoughts would plight me and keep me thinking in an endless loop of pain. 

One night my noticeable disheveled behavior became too noticeable: 

“Did we not love you enough?” Asked my mom. How can I say “it’s not you, it’s me…?” Without the cliché? 

After years of vitality, I was exhausted. My tired brain could not conjure irrationality’s anymore

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to be with anyone. All I had experienced were fleeting joys, bitter culminations, and tremendously stupid endings. So I began doing many more things on my own.  

On my own. 

On my own I go to the movies, museums, talks, concerts, bars, festivals, you name it. And even though the negative stigma of being alone is quite prevalent (I believe it’s more of the daunting fear of being portrayed as a loner or worrying about ending up completely lonesome), I a-b-s-o-l-u-t-e-l-y love it. With myself I don’t have to pretend I am interested in who you are, what you do, what your name is. With myself I peruse for as long as I want, I can see whatever I want, and if I disappoint in some way, I see it as more fuel for improving my being. I’m not afraid of being alone with my own thoughts, it’s quite entertaining actually 🌹

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Still wouldn’t mind a lover’s retreat to the City of Love 

2 thoughts on “Evolving Hopeless Romantic

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