“… so what is YOUR idea of romance?”
My gaze pauses on his face for a second.
His question makes me a little dizzy but I answer it anyway, without weighing the gravity of my words.
“My idea of romance? It is not too complex.
It’s similar to dancing near a streetside bistro under a full moon and laughing at ourselves because well, you don’t know how to dance and I don’t know how to sing.
“My idea of romance is not worrying about the “forever and always” but living right in the moment, making “now” a beautiful picture from a Polaroid perhaps.”
My idea of romance is not worrying about the “forever and always” but living right in the moment, making “now” a beautiful picture from a Polaroid perhaps.
My idea of romance is just talking to each other about anything and everything, without looking for a certain topic.
For hours and hours, and still not getting tired of it.
My idea of romance is clinging to the thought of that one person who you want to call when you’re sitting alone on the bathroom floor at 2 a.m.
My idea of romance is a random date involving cup noodles and conversations while sitting barefooted at the edge of a rooftop, even though we’re both scared of heights.
But apart from all this, “my idea of romance is just…” I stop midway through my sentence.
He urges me to continue but I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to say it.
So I convince him it’s nothing and he starts to get up, amused by the cheesiness of my bookish thoughts, telling me how I will find my kind of guy some day.
I look at his retreating self, watching his back in dejection.
He’s gone and I sigh, whispering in a low despondent voice to myself, “My idea of romance is just being with you.”