Well, we’ve been studying the Romantic period here at Cambridge. Now, people will automatically think of romance novels and whatever movie all the TV commercials are pushing for way too hard right now. Nah, Romanticism is all about the evolved shift in zeitgeist and thought from tradition, reason, and the Age of Enlightenment in general to modernity, search for individual uniqueness, and emotional expression. Not to mention a ton of political upheaval and economic growth.
Anywho, I have an essay (gag) due Thursday. So, here’s something I wrote a while ago that I touched up and updated today on romance. It was once something I wrote to send someone I had a crush on, but I felt the current revisions are the most fitting:

Dearest [insert imaginary girl],


I suppose this will be more of a confession than a letter. A letter tends to imply a series of turns in correspondence and thoughtfulness. That’s the ideal. However, I realize this will start out very one-sided. And weird and maybe creepy.

I like you. A lot. Maybe not like. Adore seems more fitting. I adore you, [made-up name]. I adore the way you light up the room you’re in, the same way you light people’s faces with laughter and love. Your kindness, humor, and honesty shines in lampposts that hit the dark water of the lake at night. You’re brilliant. That’s why I like when you tend to be all over the place, running around the room and greeting all the people you know. Light has to travel in all directions; that is its nature. That is your nature, your truth, your beauty.

You send out all this love, yet you are quick and focused enough to make one of those sharp comments under your breath. You laugh out loud with no shame, no fear of others, no [insert common negative social quality], yet your smile has a laser-beam focus. You puff your cheeks and widen your eyes when you dance, yet you’re the loveliest one in the room.


Whew, that all came out pretty quickly. Probably not the first time that’s been true. Gah, these kinds of compliments are very weird when someone just throws them at you like that and hope they stick. It’s like throwing melted chocolate at strangers. Compliments can be competitive, ambitious, and possessive, clutching onto some delusion fueled by hormones and overactive imagination. HAHAHAHAHA wouldn’t that be funny, huh?

Anyways, I’ve been here before. The last one I wrote ended up with me making a pun with olives and some other trite devices I don’t remember. I don’t want this to alienate you or make you feel that you are obligated to respond. You’re not. You can be sick of me, be disgusted with me, or worst of all, be completely indifferent. That’s fine. More than fine. At least I know where you stand.


I want to be closer to you, [whoever you are]. I want to spend more time with you in your radiating presence. I don’t care about what it means as far as a relationship, plan, or some grandiose incessant Nicholas Sparks idea of love. I’m not trying to lock you way, I have no plan whatsoever for anything in life at this point (my future, career, all the fun things), and I am not making the dangerous assumption that this is love, [name]. That tricky love sold to us in the movies, music, and plays. I’ve never known that love. Maybe this is that, maybe it isn’t. All I care about now is being a better friend and having a deeper, actual relationship. And that takes time and caring. We don’t have much time here in our schedules or in our lives for that matter, but I care about you. I will spend any time I have with you. I will spend it watching old Youtube videos, buying [insert odd food], or [cute, potentially subversive activity]. It’s not that I hate being around others (well, some others). I like being around you. As a nobody, a friend, whatever.


I don’t know you well enough, though. I don’t know your pain, what you’ve gone through, what you hope and dream for. Perhaps I don’t deserve to know. 

Come to think of it, I don’t really know myself that well.  


Off-beat, creative, meta boy #7

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