I romanticize everything
because I am made of love and starlight—
and maybe that’s the problem.
I can’t help but see beauty
in places where no one else does,
even when it hurts to admit
that some things aren’t meant to last,
that not every moment is magical
and not every person will stay.

I romanticize because I can’t stand
to face the dull edges of reality—
because to feel something so deeply,
so completely,
even when it’s breaking me apart,
is better than feeling nothing at all.

I romanticize because love is all I have left,
a fire that...