You’d know it when you feel it. First, you feel sparks. Whenever he’s around, you feel butterflies in your stomach. Never ending butterflies, it continues to flutter and flutter the whole time you are together.
You focus on his features—his positive attributes: his eyes, his nose, and his lips; his gentleness as you spoke. You have this feeling that if, by chance, you would end up together; he’s going to be excellent for you. After all, he’s going to make you, his queen.
Second, you admire nobody else around; you just see him. You can’t envision about anything else aside from what it feels like to live in this previously-monotonous-world when you already had been influenced by the inexplicable enchantment of romance.
You stopped caring about the status quo; you disregard the essentiality of living a materialistic life, you don’t worry about Maslow’s hierarchy of human basic needs, and you neither care about how Philippine economic status had been near-to-the-ground these days for a while. No. Not anymore. Technically, you don’t worry about the future at times you’re preoccupied with this stupid thing called—Love.
Third, you long for a dire need of communication. You feel emptiness when he’s not around. When he snobs you for a while, you get sadder than sad. You had this feeling as if the world is revolting against you.
You feel left out, you feel isolated. He looks back, wearing a full smile, and look towards your direction. Just right then, all the latter over-exaggerated sensation of yours suddenly, together with the tiny dusts floating in the air, fades away.
A day or two without his presence, you get miserable. Like a creepy stalker, you search for his mobile digits and send creepy messages on his cell. For a while he doesn’t respond, so you send him additional messages: a quotation about love, humor, inspiration—anything that you think he’s interested in. After an hour or two, you get a response from him. You freak out. Your systems are malfunctioning.
You’re running out of oxygen and to be able for you to breathe again, you shout all the voice you have in you. You keep on screeching as if you had been raped or was involved in a hold-up scenario. Subsequently, you feel contented. You already get what you want. You smile. You hide your phone under your pillow, pray, and get ready for a good night sleep.
Fourth, you get to continue doing your “own” routine. It’s an interpersonal thing which makes you feel dynamic, in a romantic way.
Though it sounds funny, you find it normal for everyone to have this sort of “uniqueness” when it comes to affectionate approach. You get to invent your personal scheme; and you get to do this in your own unusual, epic ways.
This is a tale from a hopeless romantic. And I’m pretty sure; I’m not the only one. 😉