To Create. To Live

The Romantics

No one ever said romance was always sweet.

Romance is merciless, it is passion, it is tragedy. It is running in the dark for miles in a desperate attempt to make your heart pound for something else. It's the kind of love you scream for, you scream it across oceans so the entire world knows how you feel. Romance is what burns in your chest and over your skin and consumes all that there is to give. It's the only reason to do the wild things we crave to do.

We are all in love with our own destruction. We dream of tenderness and dancing while childhood anger serves as the soundtrack. We torture ourselves with it all. With the need to have, have, have. We call ourselves romantics not because we are soft, though we are, we do it because anything we feel we feel to the point of bursting. We call ourselves romantics because our romance and destruction and heartbeats and heart breaks can't ever be contained.

Romance is our everything and our nothings thrown to the walls and shouted from rooftops and whispered in the heat and the quiet. Violent trust. Beautiful eyes and their looking subjects. It's need and want. Romance is every hand we reached for and every tear that was shed to be wiped away. Romance is seeing yourself in full length mirrors and strangers car windows. It's "come closer" and it's "don't touch me" and it's the softest "I know" you'll ever hear.

Romance never existed in restaurants or parks or prom nights. Romance was always the most vicious thing in your heart. You either give in quickly and wholeheartedly and cry for it, or you fight it and resist until you're too exhausted to care who takes your heart.

And in the end,

All that's left is love.