True Romance

Is it a lost art?

From a distance, I doubt you'd peg me as romantic. I don’t give off that Venusian vibe you might expect from a Libra Sun. My intimacy is quiet—observant, intentional, and slow to unfold but these days, I tend to hold myself back from diving too quickly into the pool of “love.”

Yes, I’m a romance author/writer but hear me out.

Where I was once able to freely traverse the valleys of love in the younger parts of my existence—carelessly opening myself like a book, longing for fingertips to brush against its pages—I now sit and contemplate the meaning of true romance.

Is it Darius whisking Nina off on his motorcycle to spend the afternoon at a cozy, quaint get-together with friends? Or maybe it’s Bleek swirling around in a lusty haze with Clarke, the two of them embracing as Miles Davis’ “All Blues” plays softly in the background? We could even point to something as classic and timeless as William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet—two lovers bound by a love so intense, even the forces that wished to keep them apart couldn’t diminish it—as a portrait of true romance.

But I’m not so sure—at least not anymore.

Movies and books often feed us this glimmer of hope—of longing, anticipation, and the magic of love. It’s mystifying, really.

(from top to bottom: Cynda Williams (Clarke) and Denzel Washington (Bleek) for Spike Lee’s Mo Betta Blues)

Romance, from a societal standpoint, is whimsical, beautiful, rosy, happenstance—fluffy, full of rainbows and sunshine, and maybe even a spontaneous red-eye to Paris to declare your undying love to someone you've already decided is your forever. And while that could absolutely be a real experience for some, I’m not sure I’ve had that yet.

Sometimes, I wonder if I even want that kind of romance—or if I’d rather let life carry me there quietly, without me seeing it coming.

What I have experienced is people who’ve shown me they care and love me in a variety of ways: through music, in our daily adventures into uncharted territory, in deep and sometimes sensual conversation, and in the ways we build and nurture chosen family. There’s something deeply romantic in all of that for me—not always with a lover, but often with close friends.

Looking back on my romantic timeline, one thing I’ve come to appreciate is the beauty in closeness, even if it’s fleeting. They say nothing lasts forever—and maybe that’s true—but not always in the way we think. I believe love is infinite, healing, and true above all else. And while our physical lives evolve—sometimes requiring us to leave people behind, or accept when they choose to stay where they are—the essence of those connections lingers. How we choose to transition from them often determines whether that echo is healing or disturbing.

True romance, I’ve come to believe, is a reflection of self. How you treat yourself, love yourself, and talk to yourself shapes the kind of love you attract.

And while I’m by no means a therapist, I do recognize the value in self-love—because it’s the clearest measure of whether I have the capacity to pour into someone else.

For now, I choose to give myself those things. And if someone comes along who reflects that same energy back to me—then we just might have something magical.