Not for the faint hearted

I’m sitting here, in the dark and quiet and feeling rather poetic. I have always loved poetry but don’t always get the time to properly look at or read anything new. I think it has something to do with the fact that I’m an incurable romantic.

I have often wondered where this side of me has come from, being the youngest of four children and the only girl has always meant that I’m more than a little tomboyish. At least I have been till maybe the last ten or so years. I finally found the body that I feel most comfortable in and seem able to dress a little more girly. But putting on a dress or skirt and exposing my bangers doesn’t make me a romantic. So I looked at my parents, is it them? Still married after 48 years, but when I listen to them bicker and argue I realise that the romance maybe does not stem from them.

I’ve had various different “loves of my life” since I was 15, most of whom were actually pretty awful and some that had no right to be mine, the consequences of these men? My heart got broken. So imagine my surprise when an actually half decent, semi-normal human being declared their love for me when I was twenty. This one has got to be a keeper, was my thought, and yes, he was and is. He is kind, loves me and his sons, works hard and is very honest, maybe too honest. But is he romantic? Well in some ways he is, the other day for instance when he ate the last of the bread and there was nothing for my dinner unless I went to the shops, he honestly felt awful, so to make up for it he bought me a Star bar. And last week when I got offered my new job, he actually took the time to buy me a lovely card telling me how proud of me he is. 

But he doesn’t want to walk on the beach in the cold, he doesn’t want to walk through the woods kicking up leaves and he’s not too keen on spur of the moment country drives. So now I’m thinking, am I too romantic, is he not romantic enough or am I just the outdoorsy type? Who knows, but for all his faults, I wouldn’t change him for the world.