Is a perfect romance possible?

Is a perfect romance possible?

Romance. What is romance? People die for each other in romance? Why? People feel shattered if a breakup occurs? Why? Why write poems and notes on romance? Romance, to me, is the appreciation of two people who are celebrating the lucky coincidence that they found each other.

I would say that romance is a feeling of deep attachment and affection. Romance cannot be easily defined but only experienced. One who has never felt romantic will never understand about romantic feelings. Lucky are those who fall in romantic love.
It is the small things that matter most when it comes to romance- candles, a quiet dinner at home, watching a movie together, a hug, a kiss, holding hands. Romance is appreciation, it is not perfection. Romance is realizing the flaws in our loved one and loving them anyway. Regular romance is better than any single gesture of love over time.

Romance is a subjective reality, and it has to do with what moves us, what makes us notice things, what restores the liveliness to life. The world of romance as we know it is filled with love and romantic notions, passionate encounters, meaningful discussions, heart to heart interactions, and soul to soul connections.

It is surrounded with ambience in all matters, be they the ways we choose to express our thoughts and feelings or allowing for the present to gift us with the insights of the moment. It is filled with memories of long ago, the laughter and pain of days gone by, the regrets of missed chances and wonders of lost loves. Romance also embraces the range of emotions only the heart could feel but eludes the mind.

Some people say that it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. I think I would agree with that statement, but the pain of losing your loved one must be absolutely devastating.

I recently watched one of my favourite movies, “Four Weddings and a Funeral.” I found the scene where John Hannah performs the eulogy in honour of his dead lover very poignant and moving. I think the poem speaks for itself.
 
“Stop all the Clocks,” by WH Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

This story is an excerpt from My Love, by Joanne Clancy. If you would like to read more, click here to buy on Amazon.