I Guess I’m a Hopeless Romantic
I fall in love a little every day without realizing it. I guess there’s something silly about that, something akin to being a hopeless romantic.
If someone has a kind smile or a voice that reminds me of some celebrity. If they walk into the room with a swagger, a jacket slung over one shoulder and glasses perched on their head. If their mannerisms are quirky and artistic and endearing, well…
I’m head over heels.
“I’m pansexual, that means all of you are at risk”.
That line sticks with me. It was from some standup comic’s act, a great act, really. But it hit home. As a pansexual person, it can be hard to differentiate my feelings for another person. But no matter sexual orientation, I’m sure everyone goes through the same thought process.
Like “can boys and girls ever be friends”? But with every person, regardless of gender.
Is this love or admiration? Platonic care or something romantic?
But it’s hard for me not to be a cynic. After all, you can never compare reality to the ideal found within movies or TV. It’s just not the same. Those standards are impossible. You’ll only end up hurting yourself or others.
If I open myself up to falling in love with bits and pieces of people, you aren’t in love with them as a whole. People aren’t just the bits and pieces you enjoy. They have their own intricacies. Their own complexities.
I suppose it just means I have to fall in love with myself first. Treat myself like I treat the world. Be kinder. Don’t hate my body or my words. Don’t hate what I cannot do. It’s easier to fall in love with the world than appreciating myself. But I guess that just means I’ll have to work harder to convince myself I’m worthy of self-appreciation. Take myself on nice walks. Eat good food. Laugh and smile at the little things.
Because it’s enjoying the little things that make life romantic, isn’t it?
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