Hey, my prince charming. I am ready to fall now.
But wait, excuse me for a while. I am caught between my almost lovers and blocking another. He knocks, and I run. But I am ready.
Our foolish love laws in society created to sync broken hearts with meaningless titles and countless scripted ‘I love you’s’. He softly touches my face; I feel like I am the only one, she feels that too. And another, and another.
My generation of love letters mailed with a snap of ‘you up?’ at 4 am sent collectively to yours truly and 25 others. You still don’t know my name? I am not the only one nor is he, and he cannot deny for I see within the soul he too longs for someone else, mourns for the one that got away. I yearn for a deepened connection, to find my golden door of love, finally passing the point of chance.
My love that is ours, not right now, but I preach that I am ready. My words are all promises of later. More walls built aggressively guarding my feelings of now, always planning on tomorrow’s love, missing today. But I am ready.
Myself as of now I am convinced is never enough, and in a moment of fading time I do feel enough, I am left stumbling on my past again over an old love story I never even wrote. My new bachelors right in front of me screened with red roses, how will I ever find love when my heart is blind?
I wish I could say there is a world between me and my distant lover keeping me apart from my happily ever after, but it’s me, a world between my head and heart. I try to make sense of love by rationalizing the only thing deemed impossible to do so. You cannot justify love. How do I free myself of my own helpless love language?
Hey courage, can you please paint my yellow brick road? Start the burning desire from within, bring me to them. The more I want to fall in love the further away I feel from finding it. Where do I even begin if I cannot pass the starting line?
Revolution, please knock this love generation down. Our evolution of love, dark ages to poets and plays to notebook hand in hand and then to a dance floor hook-up culture. A chemical formula of dopamine sprouts through cause and effect and then—love? I don’t remember learning in school the formula of the most complex dare in the book. Our years do not change what it means to love, for love does not change. It is us who have changed and lost our way, so very lost.
I am learning and hurting, and I am grateful for my others that I have loved deeply with no bounds and I am sorry to my others for the love I owed.
May we all rediscover the true essence, where love really calls, and relive what it means to fall completely, utterly, and stupidly in love.
I know I am not with you yet, but I am not alone, within this feeling there is a we, I know I am not the first to long for someone I have not yet met and I will not be the last, something within this sentence Is a comforting reminder that we will all be okay. Cross my heart.
I am not ready, nor will I ever truly be, and I don’t even know where to begin or what happens now, but these things will come to be I’m sure, with one small step at a time, love of mine, we will all find our way to love again. And then it will happen,
ready or not, we fall.
© Tropical Writers Inc 2025