Romance is dead. Connection is dying. Caught in the claws of this fast-paced, full-fazed, force-fed addiction we have to movement and progress and climax. This need to get from point A to point Z before the empty applause dies down from our news feeds. Trying to snap our way into a silent love story. Soaking in as little as we can before it all fades away…
It would be nice to discover romance again.
Find it lying in the midst of all this ambition and attention and ascension. Underneath the lyrical foreplay and sexual aggression. Touch its soft fingers and whisper to it with words so clean they turn us on. Sentences so pure they sanitize the most soiled edges of our senses… Something sacred, and straightforward, and sweet. Something that doesn’t crave communal approval or crater to public perception. Something you think of when the piano plays… Music… Sounds that are light and sonnets that help us see. Simple and elegant, with just the right amount of sharpness and hardship and mystery to make it dangerous and intoxicating and whole. Just enough space to keep us gasping for closeness. And just enough air to set us free…
Romance is dead.
But together we can let it breathe.
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