I already posted this in a thread on the boards; But I'd like to keep this around on my journal.
Romance is a dead tool for one such as I; But in no means does that make me void of it's throws. I can only say that romance is the opening of ones passion to another. Yet for all the songs a man's (or womans) heart can sing the ears of the majority fall deaf.
I dream of a muse, a spirit that I could feel warm beneather their light like the sun. But poetry and celebration of another only paints one to be the weak fool. A mans tears are a death knell to his masculinity, or as I'm told "Women like a challenge".
Bile surges to the top of my throat everytime I hear that. But my view of love is crippled and dulled by the past; A past that proved romance to be a waste of time.
Now I only curry favor and admiration by the ladies that I shun, I feel only free to be open to those I know who are ones I would never consider to love. A tragedy yes, But one that I am not alone in sharing with others here. My words sound different then they do here, here in this world of glass and day-dreams I feel no need to cover my tounge.
None of you would ever gaze upon me in the real world; That trueth is what frees me to be I guess romantic in some sort. It's laughable to think that my converastional skills drop through the floor when I speak directly to a lass that has caught my eye. A side-effect of boyish neverousness, no.
More like a factor of self preservation of ones inner ego. Romance to me is doing a portait of one you love, sharing the moments in which talking is unnecessary, being able to feel free.
Too many women read into the subtle nature of romance, infatuation is considered obsession, kind gestures are looked upon as glorified ass kissing, the list of injustices to very concept of romance go on.
No swooning from ones personality so much as his sense of fasion and vanity. I know that I am not ugly, quite the contrary. Tonight was a very good night of flirtation and what not. But as I told one lovely friend of mine on the heels of her compliment to how good I looked this evening; "Yes I may look nice, that is up until I open my mouth". Bitterness is the staple of a man whose hands are bound to the limits of his expression in the art of romance.
So if you feel that romance is alive, Then good. Just remember it's not alive for all of us. The pity though.......
Romance is a dead tool for one such as I; But in no means does that make me void of it's throws. I can only say that romance is the opening of ones passion to another. Yet for all the songs a man's (or womans) heart can sing the ears of the majority fall deaf.
I dream of a muse, a spirit that I could feel warm beneather their light like the sun. But poetry and celebration of another only paints one to be the weak fool. A mans tears are a death knell to his masculinity, or as I'm told "Women like a challenge".
Bile surges to the top of my throat everytime I hear that. But my view of love is crippled and dulled by the past; A past that proved romance to be a waste of time.
Now I only curry favor and admiration by the ladies that I shun, I feel only free to be open to those I know who are ones I would never consider to love. A tragedy yes, But one that I am not alone in sharing with others here. My words sound different then they do here, here in this world of glass and day-dreams I feel no need to cover my tounge.
None of you would ever gaze upon me in the real world; That trueth is what frees me to be I guess romantic in some sort. It's laughable to think that my converastional skills drop through the floor when I speak directly to a lass that has caught my eye. A side-effect of boyish neverousness, no.
More like a factor of self preservation of ones inner ego. Romance to me is doing a portait of one you love, sharing the moments in which talking is unnecessary, being able to feel free.
Too many women read into the subtle nature of romance, infatuation is considered obsession, kind gestures are looked upon as glorified ass kissing, the list of injustices to very concept of romance go on.
No swooning from ones personality so much as his sense of fasion and vanity. I know that I am not ugly, quite the contrary. Tonight was a very good night of flirtation and what not. But as I told one lovely friend of mine on the heels of her compliment to how good I looked this evening; "Yes I may look nice, that is up until I open my mouth". Bitterness is the staple of a man whose hands are bound to the limits of his expression in the art of romance.
So if you feel that romance is alive, Then good. Just remember it's not alive for all of us. The pity though.......