I daydream about the time you brushed my hair away from my face, your fingers grazing the sides of my cheek lovingly and warmly. I felt the vibration up my spine, just like the time that you pushed me against the side of that brick building and buried your face in my neck, your lips all over me, my head falling back, eyes convulsing in their sockets, reveling in the moment. I can get drunk on your lovelust for me, every word you’ve sung, every note you’ve played, every sonnet you’ve written. Romance is not dead, it exists within you.
None of that ever happened.
I recall the time I came home from a bad day at work, almost about to give up on life as I knew it and you rearranged the bedroom for me so that I would have a comfortable place to read at night before I went to sleep. And I sobbed in your arms because life is hard, so hard, and you know that. And you know me, you know me so well that you do the laundry when I don’t ask and organize the cupboards and attempt to load the dishwasher. I get off on the way you fix my car and make sure I get where I’m going safely and pay for dinner, always vegetarian sushi.
Romance is not dead, it exists within you.