The waking of the so-called dead romantic

It's embarrassing to admit, but I am a sucker for romance

for tales of passion and love and vows of "til death do us part"

I always swooned over fictional men coming to save the day

sweeping their girls from situations like a hawk does its prey

I was so into them to the point my head was the place to be in

a refuge I created to take the edge off of my poor aching heart

but then again, who am I kidding,

I know that there will never be a knight in shining armor waiting for me along the way

No mafia boss to scoop me out of my misery and show me what love is all about

No lonely wolf to claim me as his mate despite all odds and come to be the partner I deserve

I know deep inside that my pain is mine to heal from and mine alone to sustain

That my hurt is all in my head and no one will ever come to taste even a droplet of its poisonous nectar

But despite it all, I guess my mind in a way still is a refuge I would choose out of my own will

That no matter how tough life can get, I need to man up even though I am no man at all

That being a soft romantic is nothing but a weakness in this time and age

That girls like me, might in fact not be made for love, to love and be loved

I mean, how could I?

When I can barely come to love myself as I am

I am a pro at finding faults within me like no mother-in-law can

I am the best at finding all sorts of reasons as to why people hate me, and none as to why anyone could come to love me

You see, I don't know when it all started,

Was it when I started to notice how I was never anyone’s first choice, not even the second or the third?

Maybe it was when all I heard was of how I should act and behave like so-and-so and never be like myself

Or perhaps it was when all throughout those years, I was constantly told to tone it down, to stop being weird and maybe act like someone else

You see, it's hard when during the years your identity is supposed to come to be,

All you hear and see is of how you should be anything but you

It does something to your soul at one point

I am broken, but no shards of me can ever be found

It's as if there was never even proof that I was once there, and that the shards have disappeared into thin air

Like me, like who I am

They say you crave the things you do not have or own

Maybe that could explain why I crave love so bad lately

Should I laugh at how ironic fate can be sometimes?

Aching for something you know fully well can never be yours, or that you are not made for

But if I am not made to love or to be loved, then how come it’s haunting my soul ?

I’d rather not feel a shred of hope over this endless torment of knowing what’s to come

I'd rather be submerged in my loneliness and not even gaze at the faint ray of light

I don’t know really,

All I can say is I am lost

I am tired and burnt out

But somehow despite all of this

A molecule within me keeps banging on the gates of my once romantic heart

Shouting!

"Let me out, let me love and be loved "

"Let me hurt and get hurt"

"Let me taste the nectar of the forbidden fruit "

"Just let me out !!"