here's the thing about romance:
you always want more.
at first you want signs.
a brush of knuckles, a casual arm over your shoulder.
a different way of saying your name.
a smiley face in a text
or a look.
and then you want touches.
an arm around you, keeping you warm.
laced together fingers.
and really most of all
but when your lips touch it's not enough.
though you drink it in, desperately, like a drug
the beauty's eclipsed by want of more.
because now you want words.
a grand sweeping gesture
a declaration of love
after that you can't stop wanting.
you want the world, more time, more life.
you want forever.
and maybe that's where romance lives: in the wanting.
in the inflated expectations
and even the inevitable disappointments.
because there's something so hopelessly romantic, don't you think?
about always getting closer and closer
but never quite getting there