Is romance dead?

Given that I'm a "romantic at heart", it is pretty difficult to keep hopes revved up for the love of my life. So far I've been with the "Momma's Boy" of my life, the "Let's Text but never commit to the word Dating" in my life and others which are worth the printing out...

I've done the online dating via Eharmony, Match.com, BBWdatefinder sites and have come away with either stories which wouldn't be believed in movie flicks or tales of warning for other females. I've met countless men, fooled around with plenty of them and been in one sided relationships up to kneecaps.

It's dawned time and time again, that I am either making some really bad decisions in my dating life.. or have a stamp on my forehead which reads "She'll fall for you if you feed her enough attention to make it look as if you're really interested".

Harsh? Nope. I prefer the word honest.

So is romance dead? I don't believe so. I've seen a handful of my galpals fall in love - one actually met her fellow on Match.com. But that is one out of what percentage? That's what needs to be seen.

And to answer my question about romance? No. It's not dead. But it's stupid, blind, lost and kinda confused about who and what I'm seeking.

Short Story: Pictures of You

Sitting quietly at the computer and a little message pops up. An exultant smile crosses her face when the identity is recognized. He’s remembered her again and she cannot contain her glee.

They message each other for several moments. All she has of him is a handful of digital photos. And she wonders what he's like in real life.

“I've been looking so long at these pictures of you
That I almost believe that they're real"

Never felt his caress, nor walked beside him in the afternoon sun.

But they know each other - he knows several of the secrets she doesn't share with everyone. Their ideals are similar, their tastes are strangely equal. She is able to be herself once more.

The moments before the PC quickly become an hour spent online.

She tries to express herself as best she can but there’s only so much that the keyboard can convey.

By the end of the conversation they share good nights and before turning off her computer she once more looks at the pictures he’s sent her. And sighs.

"I've been living so long with my pictures of you
That I almost believe that the pictures are
All I can feel”

Short Story: I Could Fall

The road was slightly wet from the quick rainstorm that had fallen while she had been doing some shopping. It wasn't necessary to have the windshield wiper running now since the tiny drops that still coated the moving car were slowly being run off.

Wilhelmina Ann's thoughts were a thousand miles away while she drove along in mid-automatic pilot, recalling moments. Reliving emotions.

Her given name was often a tongue twister for people so she preferred to be called Billy Ann, though it sometimes made men look at her oddly. But she didn't mind it.

She was pretty with large expressive eyes and baby doll features. Her paleness framed by such dark hair simply aided in making her seem more mysterious and gothic. A look she loved to play off with the darkest of lip rouges.

But tonight her thoughts fell backwards into puddles of images. Of him. Her forbidden dream lover. The one she's managed to meet quite by accident. In a noisy coffe shop while waiting for the little old woman in the front of the line to place her order. If it hadn't been for the fact that Billy Ann's need for caffine could be considered an addiction, she'd never had met him.

Her eyes had been glued to the sign above the cashier's head: mocha frappe locha extreme with whipped cream was all she had in her noggin. The pit of her stomach was quivering merely thinking about that first bittersweet swallow of java... when the tiny hairs on the back of her head sprang to life with what she could only describe as 'spider sense'.

Billy Ann laughed as she debated her sanity over the comic book rationalizing while tucking a chunk of locks behind her ears - to play off the casual look around the room.

Standing no more than two customers away was her blonde haired (with streaks that Mother Nature rarely created) hunk. He was tall, tanned and dripping sexuality. Mama mia - just what the good doctor recommended to every single female who hadn't had sex in over six months.

Her rational mind reminded her romantic heart that this one seemed years too young. After that eye contact connection, he introduced himself and managed to convince her to sit together in that loud atmosphere and talked for two hours.

Then every day, for nearly two months after that they would "accidently" cross paths, again and again, while filling up their caffine desires.

There was always that irrational feeling of want whenever the conversation between them became flirtacious and for the twinge of a second she wished his feelings mirrored her own.

A small dip in the road caused her car to swerve a bit. Billy Ann's thoughts quickly focused on the damp streets and she bit her inner lip while turning off the Selenia song playing on the radio. Though they flirted shamelessly, for well over three months now, he'd very frankly indicated that in this "stage of his life" he was not seeking a deeper relationship.

...But she couldn't help but wonder about the "What if's" and the lyrics to the song resonated again within her mind... I could fall in love with you...

Short Story: His Kiss

The warmth of the blanket did nothing to compare with the heat floating in my veins. Tonight had gone better than I'd ever dreamed of. These four walls did nothing to contain my memories of flavor and texture.

Of his kiss.

It was our second date tonight and after walking me to my door. I watched his soot black hair falling into those hazel eyes, the way his casual wear showed off that delicious body. Those mysterious eyes of his which took in everything and gave back promises my body wanted to fulfill.

Yet he held back.

I knew he wanted me. His very gentle caresses during dinner: the brushing of our legs; our hands meeting and holding while awaiting our drinks; the way he would brush my long hair away behind my ears and lingered across my heated skin. It had all be small signals which tickled my insides.

Now as I stood there with my face tilted upwards towards his, he kept simply looking at me. I memorized his subtle wrinkles against the corners of his eyes, the length of those beautiful dark lashes and his expressive lips.

Whomever had declared that men could not be 'beautiful' had never seen this magnificent male standing before me.

Those long thick fingers of his crept upwards and his palm tenderly folded against my cheek. This is it my insides threatened to melt.

My lungs took in his subtle cologne long before my mouth was conquered by his. A sweet, little bite along my bottom lip caused me to gasp and his tongue captured that sound before it was lost to the night. The flavors his lips tasted of was pure intoxication; better than any rum or liquor. His free hand cupped into my derrière and molded us together.

Yes... more... my body pleaded. I could feel him getting aroused right against my body. Seconds evaporated. Minutes converged. Nothing else mattered but him.

But my date pulled back. As if knowing it would be too easy to give into temptation if we continued. A part of me hated his chivalry whilst another secretly enjoyed it.

"For our next date," he promised, before his thumb pad sweetly ran across my bottom lip; before turning and walking back to his car.

Hours later I punched my pillow while smiling. Yes. Our next date. And the promises of more.

Short Story: Death of Love

She sat with her warm back against the wall, feeling on a deeper level the chill coming into the room. The sun had long fallen behind the clouds but she had not reflected on it as she normally would. Today her mind didn't fully register the fact that anything was happening, her thoughts were miles away recalling him and the flowery speech he'd last spoken to her. The very words lingered after he walked out, on her and on their relationship.

After knowing him for nearly three years and making her fall in love with his quirky voice and handsome face, he finally declared that he couldn't love her as she did him. That she would be better off without him since she was the more mature of the two. He was sorry, he said and that it was better this way.

The words had fallen like blows; Emmé was bewildered to remain standing after hearing it. Then amazingly he had smiled at her, given her a quick hug and left. Taking two steps she collapsed against the window seat and had not moved a muscle since then.

He never saw the way her nails had clawed into her smooth palms to avoid aiming them towards his hazel eyes. He would not know how she was counting each breathe to know that she was alive after getting her heart pulled from her chest.

She would personally crawl into hell and dance naked before the devil himself before letting her ex-lover see a single tear she so wanted to shed.

Evening had drifted in gently while her mind whisked a million deeply disturbing thoughts: she imagined crawling into his bedroom like some wraith shadow and sinking a knife into the black pulsating stain where his heart should beat. She wondered running him over with her brand new car, the one she'd brought in his favorite color. Could almost hear the sounds of his brittle bones crackling beneath the hubcapped Michelin tires.

Revenge was said to be sweet.

It was a taste she soon dared to have on her palette.

And only then did the shades of a smile begin to form on her lips.

...several days later...

The stretch of pavement and road ahead of her seemed suddenly shorter the longer she stared at the scene across the way. Even with the huge droplets of rain slipping down her face, hair and body the night chill didn't feel as cold as her insides.

She had waited within the eerily dark alleyway even when the rain had come. The heavyset raindrops had only helped echo the pain that pounded with each heartbeat; making the thud, thud, thud seem more like a pounding hammer.

Her head ached also as she looked at the man and woman playfully trying to shy away from the rain underneath an umbrella that was barely made for one person. Emmé had made plans to come over to his apartment, to let him know that the personal items he'd left at her house were in a box on her doorstep.

Unknowingly she had left them there and they were probably as soaked as she currently was. Not even that mental image brought a smile to her face as she continued to drink in the pair across the way. She saw the ways her ex teased the new woman in his life. From the way his hands curved around the other waist Emmé knew that this was more than just a casual affair.

Had he been seeing this other female while she had been involved with him? Had the kisses she'd covered him with been atop others from this new woman? The couple paused on his doorstep where he brought their faces close and kissed that stranger in a knowing way. Yes, these two were more than a simple date. Then he opened the door, allowed the woman within and walked in behind her.

Emmé's stomach curled and she had to lock her knees to force herself not to crumble. Had she been a fool to love someone who had probably been playing with others when she had believed herself to be the only one?

A thin drop of rainwater dripped into the corner of her left eye; pooled and then ran free down her cheek. Emmé couldn't be completely convinced that it hadn't been Mother Nature helping her to cry since she hadn't been able to on her own.

As she stood there, feeling the pangs of disgust pulsate within her breast while the rain slowed until nothing remained but the dark skies and soaked pavement, buildings and woman.

Emmé’s hands came up, pulled the mess of hair off her forehead, and smoothed the strands behind her ears. Dark thoughts of revenge began to rage within her ~ she wanted to tear this piece of earth off the face of the world and flush it away.

And then it happened.

A feeling of release cracked through her pain and to Emmé it felt as if her heart began again.

One tiny pulse.

Of life. Of renewal.

After a moment, the rainwater felt lighter and before Emmé's surprised eyes she saw the moon breaking free of the dark clouds. Its shimmering face seemed to call her name. This is a sign. Let him go and continue.

Emmé looked towards the building once more and her stubborn chin tilted up. To hell with him. The rain was nothing more than a small drizzle now and though she was soaked through and through, she now felt as if she'd been baptized in nature's tears; now cleansed. The moonlight seemed to follow her as she turned the corner of the building and walked off into the night.

Short Story: A Lifetime

Does it truly take a lifetime to get over someone? I wonder sometimes if decisions I've made along the way were correct. Try to compensate the errors created by giving excuses and constantly burying regrets.

I've long been taught that "if you love something set it free, if it returns, then it's meant to be"... but it doesn't always work out.

Your dreams become nothing more than a sad song for someone else to write about. Your desires are stamped down and slowly burrow into the dark earth. Your wants are sometimes ignored.

It's said that we can't have everything we wish for.

I wish for the love of sad songs - the one other women will hear about and weep silently, wishing he was theirs.
I wish for a happiness found in romance novels and chick flicks.
I wish for a man who will love me moreso than I'll love him - because want to be his beyond this lifetime and into the next.

Does it take a lifetime to get over someone?

Sometimes it sure feels that way.

Wicked Bean Dreams

The subtle scent of coffee on his breath tantalizes my nose
whenever he leans over to speak.
Making me wonder if Juan Valdez ever knew
how much of an aphrodisiac his Java juice is.
I envy the liquid coffee beans,

which have caressed and danced

upon those taste buds.
Doing things within that lush mouth

that I have but fantasized of.