I don’t know where my life will end, and I could never predict that perfect point in my life, the one that makes everything following it is incomparable; like when a movie ends, and although you don’t know what happens after it ends, you know it’s okay because you have closure.
I’m a romantic, and I am unafraid to admit it. I think love is the most wonderful feeling one could ever experience – including all the little baby steps following up to it. But it seems so distant and so unapproachable and so idealistic. Not only am I questioning my capability to fall in love, but someone else’s capability to fall in love with me.
I know, I’m young. I am eighteen and I just gained the ability to vote and buy cigarettes and go to the dentist by myself and other things (???). I have things to learn, places to see, feelings to experience. However, I truly believe that there are only a few important things in life, the things that matter when you take your last breath or when you close your eyes before the crash or when you tighten your chest before the fall, and one of those things is love.
There is something so fucking beautiful and annoying and overwhelming about the thought of spending time with someone you love, I mean, someone you’re in love with. It’s an incomparable feeling. It sounds desirable and although most of us aren’t ready for it, it is most likely something we all look forward to or think about or wonder about or even consider.
I’m being so honest (like, VERY honest) and maybe a little harsh on myself when I say that my ability to be a romantic is actually an unexpected characteristic. I grew up with a single mother, and although she’s finally settled down at the age of 45, I almost feel as if I’m supposed to be cynical about romance. Maybe I should be, but I’m hopeful and excited. However, I am also easily heartbroken and disappointed. I am too eager, too trustful, too understanding. This is all detrimental, and I am so afraid that this counteracts everything that I’ve ever hoped for in my life.
My desire to love and be loved has nothing to with “daddy issues” or “insecurity”, but simply my undeniable, unsurpassable ability to hope. I can hope that there’s a boy out there who will understand me, who will travel with me and be honest with me and love me. I am young, but I don’t think that should invalidate the amount of faith I can hold in my soul.
I am only a freshman in college, so there are implications when it comes to finding love: Everyone is looking for a hook up, people are too immature, you have so much more time to find someone! Although I mostly agree with these beliefs, I also believe that this shouldn’t hinder our future ability to settle down, mature, and understand when it’s the right time. I can have fun, but I can also anticipate the time for a new beginning, for a new definition of “fun.”
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being a romantic. I don’t think this should insinuate I am dangerously boy-crazy or desperate or “thirsty” or low on self-esteem, but that I am one of the few hopefuls of my generation.