The Death of Romance

A Lost Art: This week, tell us about a lost art: one that you know, one that you miss, or one that should be lost for good.

Here’s the thing, I’m a hopeless romantic. I knew that since the day I realized how different my perspective on love was compared to my friends. To me, love, in its entirety, is an art form, it is an expression of one’s emotion, similar to dancing, and yet so much more profound. But even with all this grandeur of love, it saddens me beyond compare how love has become the way it is now.

You know how it is — or how it used to be, boy meets girl, girl takes boy’s breath away, then boy arduously tries to court girl and sweep her off her feet until he finally does — and that moment would have been a moment of moments.

But now? Look at what we have done to love. Look at how diminished the word has become, how it has been flayed and mutilated, how something so sincere has been mindlessly labeled as ‘creepy’ and ‘stalker-ish’. They say that the love I describe only happens in fairy tales and movies, but they fail to understand that that love, the romance I have yearned for, used to exist and was once well renowned, it was just somewhere along the lines of a generation’s rite of passage that that romance got lost in translation. And it pains me.

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