I used to believe in romance. Perhaps I still do, but to a lesser extent. I used to read romance novels a lot. Now, I can’t. I cannot even enjoy reading non-fiction anymore. I cannot enjoy love stories, since I know that, for me, it is a lie.
I don’t have the qualities needed to build a commitment in a relationship. While I know that a long-lasting relationship is the one that is fully committed, soberly committed, I am not sure I am fitted to that. To be committed is difficult, and I am never be ready to be in a difficult situation. It sparks up my nerves.
Ever since I realize about that, I cannot enjoy any love stories or love songs anymore. The beauty and sweet of the romance (perhaps) has been eluded from me. The hope and joy of so-called love has been stroked away by the harshness of reality, and the realization of my incompetent to stay strong and stand still in a relationship.
That leads to a conclusion on why my life and imaginations are dull. Dreams are always grey colored. Fantasy are always left me in tears rather than a sense of hopefulness of future. Some fantasy even left unfinished, just because.
It is true when they say that you need fiction to lit up your life. Fictions lead you to sympathize and empathize, to imagine, to work out your emotion, to work out your brain at the same time. Fiction, dream, imagination, and fantasy are the strings of life that you hold on to.
I don’t know when I can enjoy romance stories again. Seems like all of romance things are already ruined for me. I miss falling asleep smiling just because one simple fantasy.
I miss those days when I can hang on to my fantasies, without ever hoping for them to be real, and at the same time just go along with my life. I miss those days when I can enjoy reading novel after having to face reality during the day.
I miss the sweetness of youth.
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I used to believe in romance. Perhaps I still do, but to a lesser extent. I used to read romance novels a lot. Now, I can’t. I cannot even enjoy reading non-fiction anymore. I cannot enjoy love stories, since I know that, for me, it is a lie.
I don’t have the qualities needed to build a commitment in a relationship. While I know that a long-lasting relationship is the one that is fully committed, soberly committed, I am not sure I am fitted to that. To be committed is difficult, and I am never be ready to be in a difficult situation. It sparks up my nerves.
Ever since I realize about that, I cannot enjoy any love stories or love songs anymore. The beauty and sweet of the romance (perhaps) has been eluded from me. The hope and joy of so-called love has been stroked away by the harshness of reality, and the realization of my incompetent to stay strong and stand still in a relationship.
That leads to a conclusion on why my life and imaginations are dull. Dreams are always grey colored. Fantasy are always left me in tears rather than a sense of hopefulness of future. Some fantasy even left unfinished, just because.
It is true when they say that you need fiction to lit up your life. Fictions lead you to sympathize and empathize, to imagine, to work out your emotion, to work out your brain at the same time. Fiction, dream, imagination, and fantasy are the strings of life that you hold on to.
I don’t know when I can enjoy romance stories again. Seems like all of romance things are already ruined for me. I miss falling asleep smiling just because one simple fantasy.
I miss those days when I can hang on to my fantasies, without ever hoping for them to be real, and at the same time just go along with my life. I miss those days when I can enjoy reading novel after having to face reality during the day.
I miss the sweetness of youth.
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