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Tuesday, 22 November 2016

The other day I found myself wearing dirty sweatpants with an old t-shirt belonging to my boyfriend, eating cereals in bed, watching Making a Murderer, while my beloved was only in boxers, eating pasta. And at some point, when I realized it, which is two days after, I couldn't help but wonder, where is romance in our relationship? I was afraid. Couldn't find it anymore. Of course we have some romantic dinners, we wear decent outfits and I wear sexy undies every night because I know we will have sex at some point for sure. However, this is not really matching my definition of romance. I'm not stupid enough to think that it is only about bouquet of roses and expensive date nights in fancy restaurants, but I still need a little bit of romance in the details. Even though a grand gesture is time to time also welcome. This can be a fancy dinner at home, a present for no reason, a love letter, I'm not complicated. Well, I am. Anyways, I was afraid. Can love go on without romance? This question scared me so much that I had to stop writing and only came back now to answer it. 
   At first, I thought that yes, without romance love would die. After all, a relationship cannot be restricted to ramen soups in bed and dirty sweatpants, right? Routine scared me, because I knew that when romance goes away it is replaced by routine, and then the end comes. So I started getting mental and asking my boyfriend to do as many romantic things as I could propose. At first he thought I was cute with my little presents for no reason, with my invitation to go to the restaurant, with my new undies, with my love declaration at midnight. But he didn't really change his behavior. So I started to freak out. I didn't want to be the only one keeping romance alive, I needed some help. And so I talked to him, telling him about my fear. "We never go to the restaurant, we never take the time to look nice when we are together, our couple is DYING!". He didn't really know what to answer, and so we went to bed without a word. During the whole night I hated myself. I just scared him to fulfill my little-girl-in-a-magical-world-with-princesses-and-princes-and-fairies-and-f***ing-unicors dream. Silly me. 
   The morning after we both went to study, and everything seemed to be fine but of course I knew I had scared him with my mental disease: the fear of loosing romance. Two days after that he called me, "Wanna come over tonight?". I went, and he was there, wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt. He didn't get my point. Maybe the other night he didn't even listen to me. I hold my tears and went to the living room. He had cook pesto pastas. Almost the same meal overtime I come over. We eat, I enjoy this time but cannot stop thinking about our romance collapsing in front of me while I was eating. We went to bed, had sex, cuddled, and then, out of nowhere, he opened a box of fancy chocolate and we started eating hem in bed while listening to Bon Iver and talking. That night I realized I was stupid. Love is love, romance is just a gesture, and thinking too much is the real thing that can kill your couple. I never enjoyed such a simple night as much as I did this day. 



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