"The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was."
-Rumi
For one as hopelessly in love with love as she, the mere thought of the emotion was a fine beverage in itself. The thoughts danced through her head; ones of a grand ballroom, velvet carpet, and a fine symphony slurred out in the background. There she would be, in the midst of this grand festive that only dreams could create. She would dreamily scan the other pairs; envying how their bodies seemed to fit perfectly against each other, how in-sync the dancers as they whirled around the ballroom.
As the young girl within herself would lose hope in finding a partner, a single speck of green would catch her eye. Upon further inspection, this speck would be the eye of a young man. She would feel her face flush a light pink, trying hard as to not fall under his gaze. However, the man would push his way through the crowd, his warm gaze still on her. As he approaches her, he takes a bow, then holds out his gloved palm to the girl. In response, she'd giggle, and then take his hand.
No words would be spoken, for, no words could describe the mystique of the man as they danced around the velvet carpet, eyes locked onto each other. The way their bodies fit seemed almost perfect, almost perfectly in-sync, just as the other couples she had so enviously gazed upon. For this, this was the perfect reality. The perfectly reality of being led across the dance floor, the perfect reality being held against the unnamed man.
Dear readers, I must reinstate that these dreams are to be contrasted to alcohol in that they were merely an escape; and only a temporary one, at that. Alike to all alcohol, these dreams came with a hangover if taken in heavy doses. Rather than waking with a beating, aching head, however, one would wake up with a beating, aching heart. One would slowly take their finger and caress their lips softly, the same lips holding a kiss that hadn't been taken in what seemed to be years. Then, one would roll themselves out of bed and face themselves in the mirror. The person looking back wouldn't be a princess, it was only a woman that continued to cling to her dreams of princes, princesses, and perfect realities.
For this was the life of a hopeless romantic; those that dream of roses and candlelight, sunsets and beaches. Yet deep inside, they only yearn for a person to love indefintely, and for them to return those same affections. So, dear reader, won't you sit down and listen to this hopeless romantic's tale?