Oh, I don't mean romantic love. And I'll always be a romantic at heart, classically speaking. No, I mean the "formal" romance... the dozen roses, the courtship rituals, the sonnets ("Sonnets... I wrote a few. But then again, too bad to mention..."). I realized the other day that I can no longer view such trappings non-ironically. I might do them ironically, or as some sort of role-playing, but for any serious purpose they smack too much of a silly game. Love-by-numbers.
No, I'm interested in genuine thoughtfulness and intimacy, without the need for formulae. Considering her, not a romantic-comedy version of her. I don't mean not giving her flowers (if she likes that sort of thing), but if I do it'll be because I've decided that's an appropriate thing to do, and they'll be whatever flowers I think appropriate. Maybe I'll get her chocolate-covered cherries... or maybe peanut brittle... or a six-pack of Rolling Rock. Depends. I won't be slathering on what's effectively an industrial emotional lubricant; anyone who can't find romance in talking about what dreams you have in common while drinking a couple of beers isn't someone I can build a relationship with.
No. Here's the romance I offer from here on in: I'll be there. I'll listen. I'll let you know what I'm about, and I'll seek to know what you're about. I'll want to make you happy, with the things that genuinely make you happy, not the things that push your "awww" button. I'll often be sweet, but I won't be an endless dessert; I'm a lot of courses, and complexity is good for both the palate and nutrition (I'm sure there's a valid metaphor in there somewhere). I won't take you away from it all, because "it all" is everywhere you go. But I'll go there with you.
And one day, I'll learn to quit writing while I'm still making sense.
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