Romance and peonies...

Some days I think I'm still a kid, trapped in some imaginary sitcom, my father always warned me about what 'FRIENDS' would do to me. He insisted I watch the news instead. I can never forget the way he'd fake-laugh when the audience on set (read laughter machine) would.

I tend to romanticize everything and figment-ize the future; what I could change, what could easily dispose of my current situation and start anew, be brand new. Be the me who is someone... else. That must sound absolutely delusional. When I wake up to another Sunday, I really want to wake up somewhere else, where everyday's a sight to take in, where having waffles soaked in nutella is not a sin and where ruins are only the good part of Grecian monuments. They say if you stand in front of the columns on an especially breezy day, the dead will tell you stories and their words will teach us the true meaning of life. Or maybe I'm romanticizing history. 
Okay, I am.


When I get married, I want peonies and candid snapshots and a first dance that's not awkward where the rest of the world just blurs away if only for a moment. I also want to wake up in Paris and go down to the cafe and sit in my regular spot and on a whim decide to hop a train to Bunol, in time for the festival. C'mon let me dream. What's wrong with a little romance?

I dare you to not love them   :)