When I was a child, I would characterize myself as the hopeless romantic who was unable to attract the attention of any damsel, no matter how thoughtful, sweet, or caring I might’ve been. But as I got older, there were experiences that often lead me to believe that the stuff we saw and dreamed of were only figments of our imagination that is only found in fictional movies and stories. But to that, I dare say, is that life is nothing more than a set of memories, and if what you remember life as, whether filled with romanticism or sound logic, in the end, you only have to really, live with yourself your whole life.
Hmm. It’s interesting you and others say that my article is promoting romanticism. I don’t see it that way. I don’t think the things I listed are fantasy ideals. When I was younger, I also was a hopeless romantic and bought into these notions of love being what would save me or would be picture perfect and without flaw.
But now I know, and I believe I portrayed in this article, that love is often more mundane. It’s imperfect. It’s not like what we read in fairytales.
I’m not sure where in this article I wrote like I portrayed the right person as someone you’d read in a fairytale.