Suicide of a Romantic

What is it that stops us from affirming others while they’re alive, as opposed to waiting for their demise before singing their praises? Perhaps we’re afraid of being held accountable for our kind thoughts which denies us that ever convenient exit of ‘I knew it’ or ‘I told you so’ or ‘I should’ve known better’? Or maybe we lack the belief in our own virtues and would rather not have people peering so closely that they may see in us what we despise about ourselves?

Maybe it’s just that we’re so afraid of being hurt, that we’ll do anything to prevent others from getting too close, so that we don’t ever give them a view of how much they mean to us? That would give them far too much power to hurt or manipulate us. So instead, we create our defenses and do it so well that we end up believing that how we present ourselves to others is all we have to offer.

Heaven forbid we should live a romantic life. It is possible you know. To live a romantic life and still remain functional and practical about all life’s challenges. But it’s easier to fit in with the jaded crowds than to be true to ourselves, because the risk of failure is too great a source for potential embarrassment. POTENTIAL embarrassment. But the reality of the joy that we’ll experience if we lived romantically now will forever escape us because of our fear of embracing what we desire, lest it be stripped away from us in an untimely fashion.

So we set ourselves up for heartache and failure, all the while pretending to be comforted by our superficial success in worldly endeavours, ensuring that not another living soul will ever see the romantic fool in us for fear of being mocked or ridiculed for that which is closest to our hearts. So fear drives us to suppress the romance, and embellish the facade so that it becomes the reality of our existence, when in fact it’s the reality of our deception. Sad, isn’t it?

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