IMAGINING THE MAN U FELL IN LOVE WITH

adulterated adolescence

You ever feel that you're much rushed to be intimate? You just crave the sweetness of a perfect romantic narrative without any harsh side effects that you dreamed about since your adolescence. The ones I excessively craved the most would've climaxed of enjoyment before I turned 18 so I would only be aided by the carefree nature in late adolescence before thrown into the adult world.

Narratives of ideal romances I had ranging on a specificity scale like just parking a convertible on a mountainside that hung over an ocean of city lights to a boy-next-door innocent crush experience set on the countryside that screamed 'best friend falls in love with best friend but the treasured timely friendship was at stake if a one-sided confession was to be thrown out there one day'. But you savor those midsummer nights, where the two of you were embraced by the lukewarm winds that sent a different type of chill down your spine, all while laying on the beloved treehouse your parents built for you and sheltered the infinite memories that stemmed from early childhood you had with said boy. The chills of restlessness for more closure but also the ease of knowing that at that moment of ambiance and crickets' chirps while gazing the night sky, only you had their attention. It wasn't till 9pm when it finally no longer felt like 6pm.

The countryside boasts it's earthly charm, a special little birdie once told me, that the sea of stars in the night sky is extraordinarily vast in the presence of the less artificial city lights that masks the full beauty of the brightest stars. You look at them and think, the stardust of the dead stars have fallen onto earth have landed onto many different people. And it seems like, a star that was once full of life, distinctive of all the others with it's brightness, gave it's stardust to them. Just the little moments like these, you felt that it was enough for you to just imagine that you secured some sort of special intimate spot in their heart without experiencing the reality of jeopardizing the well-pampered friendship you both don't want to lose.

The tragedies of hopeless romantics who have beautiful specific dreams like they are to tell a story of their innocence becoming exploited. They pounce on any chance of securing a mediocre lover that has yet shown them their true colors.

Sometimes so much so that you meet someone, who's maybe not so great, like your average Joe who works a 9-5 at a job that was probably their 50th choice but had met above the requirements of their ideal wage, sleeps a cycle of restlessness and finds the shallowest things impressively amusing and looks for a 25% personality 75% conventional physical attractiveness type of partner, and may secretly be depressed because he subconsciously craves something more than his utopianesque lifestyle. Joe unknowingly lives without meaning, and the tragedy only turns into a star-crossed sob-story monologue dominated by the casualty's crestfallen canticles once they uncover Joe's vile true colors.

Of course, lovingly the hopeless romantic welcomes any type of affection after Joe's vileness. Joe can be blessed with a stoic, taciturn facade that comes in his plays of malice because of how out of tune with empathy he is, but yet the affection is received too warmly on the romantic's end that all their worries just melt away so fast. Sociopathic tendencies might I note down if Joe is the type who also spares the water-wells of his tearducts when his malicious play is put at an unforeseen halt.