When I watch romantic comedies, I used to get sad because I don’t have what the characters have. Maybe I love them because of the fact that I am not in love but they make me feel that I am, even for just an hour or two. I love the idea of love, but I’m not in the state of it. Weren’t I supposed to watch funny, cheesy, heart-swelling scenes wherein I have your hand that I can intertwine my fingers with? A firm but warm chest I can place my head to, then end up dozing off in your arms because despite me loving romantic comedies, I know I love you more? I’m filled enough with love from your embraces.
I used to let the sadness rule me, ride the sensation of emptiness, invite self-doubt to keep me company; they kept me busy as I learned to pay attention to me. They also gave me a little more money, a collection of stories and a handful of cute guys who wouldn’t bother to get to know me — not unless they’re in me. But as I watch romantic comedies and wait for their signature lines, I have me. I don’t need to feed anyone with lines, let someone wait in line as I buy tickets for screening time, keep someone in line before they cross the line or even draw any kind line.
Now when I watch romantic comedies, alone, loneliness is not on the line. Happy tears? They don’t care the lines under my eyes. I have the love from each of their lines. And that is not sad — not anymore. I have them.
Also, I have me.