I threw down my addiction. I needed to stop. None of it was true, none of it! It didn't exist. Liars, I thought to myself. Romance is fiction.
My addiction was love stories. I absolutely mesmerized by the admiration between characters. Everyone knows that when you read about something a lot, you begin to believe its true. Example A: I read Harry Potter, and for a year I was waiting for Dumbledore to come and take me away. You read too much, bam! Reality abandons you.
Back to love. For example, Twilight by Stephanie Meyer. I hate it. The love between Bella and freaking handsome Edward is contagious. So, now every one's waiting for their strong, God-like Edward to come along and whisk them off their feet. Newsflash; not happening.
It's rare men will go for the extra mile for me, for any one. They don't know what to do! They don't read romance. They don't yearn for someone who understands them. They see a hot girl; 'uh, wanna go see a movie?' Of course, we women normally say yes to all date invitations. Who knows? Your biology partner maybe an amazing listener, as well as an amazing kisser.
At that moment I was reading Seventeenth Summer by Maureen Daly . It was long, but the plot was simple; ordinary girl meets hot guy, guy asks her out, calls her beautiful, she falls in love with him, he makes her drink beer, cheats on her, she moves away, blah blah blah. Not that interesting, but when your a love story addict, anything will do.
I'm not the type that will just say yes. I have to be friends first. If I start blushing around him, I'll wait for him to ask me out. Then when we go out, I find out he's a jerk and cut it off. If there's one little thing the story book says is wrong, the relationship with that unlucky fellow was over.
This was a horrible start, but I want to explain what love really is. You'd be smart if you read this before that 'Realistic Fiction' love-story your bestie recommended.
