I had lunch today with some people very dear to my heart. We took turns updating each other on life. One of them pointed out the eating OCD I never knew I had. The other shared my love for the cherries which were cooked into the yams and sweet potatoes. And the smallest of them all, a once self-proclaimed cynic, gushed about her new relationship with the most stupid look on her face. Did I mention she sang Finally Falling the entire time I was there?
Needless to say, I’m smitten that she’s smitten.
In a different part of the world, another friend of mine, a once self-proclaimed hopeless-romantic is now a born-again cynic. I imagine she’s on a bench somewhere watching couples walk by and giving their relationships expiration dates. But I’m not worried. Not at all. I know that if she really didn’t believe in love anymore, she wouldn’t be so cynical about it.
It’s like the Tooth Fairy. There is no doubt in my mind that she doesn’t exist. I’ve made a decision and stand behind it 110% so I don’t even question it. Then there’s ghosts. I’ve only heard stories about them, yet I’m scared of long, dark corridors in abandoned hospitals. I’m scared of their presence, yet I have no proof of their existence. So, I just go back and forth with questions, and just wonder. And wonder. And wonder.
Hopeless romantics get a lot of shit nowadays. What was once endearing is now naive, foolish, and unrealistic. People think we walk through life and relationships with rose-colored lenses on. Never that. I’ve been the hopeless romantic, then the cynic, and then the hopeless romantic again. Because I’ve seen both sides of the spectrum I see things clearer. Clear enough to know that fairytales do exist – but only the ones we write for ourselves.
Hi, I’m Abi, and I was most recently a self-proclaimed “cynical-hopeless romantic.” I take it back though. I don’t think I’m cynical at all. Just more cautious. Guarded. Maybe even a little stubborn. I know better now. So hi, I’m Abi. I’m a “practical-hopeless romantic,” and I will unapologetically wear that label as if it were the hottest shit coming down the runway. Because you should be practical about love. But love should never be practical.