Love-drunk...

This post is inspired by what a friend (Suman) wrote.

I have always found it rather shameful that I have been a closet romantic for most of my life. In keeping with the "Let's go mad now that I am 21" theme that my life seems to be following of late, I am officially stepping out of this cold, dark and rather damp closet.

I have always been a romantic - always. But my kind of romance takes some getting used to. Candle-light is great; but it would better if it happened at home with a meal that was prepared together. Roses are lovely as long as you give them to me in a pot so they don't die out as bouquets do. I don't care for champagne or caviar, I'd rather have a cuddle while watching the sun set on a hot, muggy and tiring day. Moonlit beaches are du jour, but a regular head massage and neck rub works better. I don't need to hear him say that I am beautiful everyday, but I love it when he presses his nose into my hair to breathe me in as if all the time in the world wouldn't be enough.

But mostly, I dislike people declaring that they "fell in love" with someone; it sounds like your eyes weren't on the road when you were driving and you landed in a ditch. Love, as I see it, is not something you fall into or fall out of. It just is. And like all things living, breathing and growing in life, it dies and is reborn, it ebbs and it flows. It's like surfing - sometimes you catch a wave and sometimes you don't. And when you don't overthink it, you have so much fun.