In the end, that was the problem with romance. It was so easy to romanticise romance because it was everywhere. It was on music and TV and in filtered Instagram photos. It was in the air, crisp and alive with fresh possibility. It was in falling leaves, crumbling wooden doorways, scuffed cobblestones and fields of dandelions. It was in the touch of hands, scrawled letters, crumpled sheets and the golden hour. A soft yawn, early morning laughter, shoes lined up together by the door. Eyes across on a dance floor.
I could see it all, all the time, all around but when I got closer, I found that nothing was there.
A mirage.