“Hopeless romantic,” I’ve decided, is a misnomer. It tries to describe a certain mentality, but I think it is more descriptive of those who think of romance in a certain way. The people whom the term seeks to describe are often far from hopeless; rather, they are filled with an abundance of hope that can be difficult to fathom. I will not call it an “overabundance” of hope because how can one have too much hope? Even in romance? Why not hope? Because it makes us unrealistic? Because we may end up being hurt? I know that it is natural to want to avoid pain, our bodies are used to it. I only worry that life may become more about avoiding pain than living. I find that unacceptable.

So here I am, living. It is not as easy as it once was, but I hold that quivering hope inside me, trying not to grip it too firmly lest I crush it.


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