The topic of romance has come up in many discussions. Questions abound. Does romance really exist or is it a delusion we carefully construct to support our expectations? If it does exist, can romance be sustained in the face of daily routine and pressures? Is it dangerous to be a romantic in this time of disposable relationships? What are we afraid of?
The topic came up at a party I was at recently, and one woman adamantly disregarded even the possibility that romance and the right man exists. She has been scarred by former relationships, bad choices in men, bad reasons to stay with them. Up to that point, I would have agreed with her. But it was in that one moment when she categorically denied the existence of anything beautiful or good in relationships that I found my faith in them.
I had an epiphany.
It wasn't so much that I objected to the idea of romance because I did not believe in its existence. I had lost my ability to believe that I could inspire romance. Cynicism was a convenient way of protecting myself under the hard shell of logic.
When I looked into the mirror of this woman's words, I saw someone who had lost her faith. I saw my past self.
In that instant, I stepped out from under the veil of disbelief, and in my head I heard,
"There is such thing as the right man, the right relationship. There is such a thing as feeling swept into a world of magic and limitless possibilities. It is possible to sustain that feeling over the years, despite laundry and bills and unforeseen economic bumps. It is possible to look into someone's eyes and feel transported to a parallel universe, even if it's for an instant. It is possible to feel like your solitary journey is over, and you have reached your home. I know. I have felt it."
I was flabbergasted. The voice in my head was clear and strong and most definitely my own.
Later that night, as I finished washing my face, I looked into my eyes in the mirror and smiled.
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