The month of love is upon us and seeing as this blog is all about what I love, I thought it would be fitting to talk about romance (or in my case, talk about my hopeless romantic self).
February 1st arrived and I was ready with my Valentine-themed pins. I had collected and made an inventory all of my red attire: scarves, hats, socks, tights, sweaters. I had pinned all of the recipes and crafts for the most lovely month. I had also noted my favorite poems and quotes of love.
I had secured all things necessary to make this a love-filled month; all except a partner, a detail that had not yet escaped me.
For here I am, a girl who has so much love to give and but no partner with whom to give it. I guess that is what defines a hopeless romantic after all: a romantic sans hope? I refuse to believe that because I have yet to give up hope.
I have dreamed about that perfect someone that would sweep me off of my feet since I was a kid. I’ve dreamed about words of love being whispered into my ear. I’ve imagined scenes where we’d kiss in the rain or kiss in a field full of flowers or, the ultimate, kiss in front of Big Ben (yes, I am an Anglophile not a Francophile, so it’s Big Ben and not the Eiffel Tower for me). Most of all, I’ve thought about how completely happy and utterly satisfied I’d feel if I just had that special someone.
I’m not imagining this feeling though because I’ve felt it before. I guess that’s what sets me apart from other “hopeless romantics” because I have had that perfect someone. I know what it feels like to be so content in love with someone that the rest of the world ceases to exist. I know what it is like to want to stop time and freeze that moment of sheer happiness.
For all of that, I cannot be content calling myself a hopeless romantic, better I should call myself a hopeful romantic. As long as I have those memories of true, all-encompassing love, then I cannot lose hope; for, one day my prince shall come.