C10H14N2, the sequel.

Prompt from here.
A recorded rant for those who are still in search for love in a hopeless place.

‘Your room reeks.’
‘I know, sorry.’
‘I thought you don’t smoke?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Ah. Must be your clothes. You met him, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but this… this is not because of him.’
‘What? How do you know?’
‘I can only tolerate one type of cig. Not this one.’
‘That’s… romantic.’

The conversation rang like a fire drill inside my head ever since I had it.

Adults and kiddos, ladies and gents and everyone in between, let’s face this now: we live in an era where romance is not about whispering sweet words into someone’s ear, nor about throwing rocks at someone’s window in the middle of the night, and least of all about taking poisons just because you both come from families in dispute (oops).

Are we saying goodbye to good old chivalries?
I don’t think so. Not completely.

People still do that. It’s just that some people started to get different ideas of what romance is. Some think it’s about a simple good morning text. Some think it’s about sparing 20 minutes for a coffee in the middle of work. My friend, apparently, thinks the fact that I can only tolerate one type of cigarette a part of romance.

Me? I’m inexperienced. That was what he told me.

And no – we’re not talking about what you might think it is. It’s simply a matter of knowing if someone was right for you or not (yes, I can hear you clearly – you, the one who shouted “LAME!” by the back).

He said that I might like him because I don’t know what’s good for me and what’s not.
Personally speaking? I do. He just doesn’t know about how I refer to him as potato chips to my peers.

Why chips? you asked. Why not… cupcakes?
Well, it doesn’t have to be chips, really. It can be MSG. It can be a bucket of fried chicken. It can be that extra slice of cake. When I write I prefer to use the term LSD 25 – which is not 100% accurate but hey! Let’s not get technical here. If it’s too much for you, though, let’s get this straight. What do they have in common?

Potato chips. MSG. Fried chicken. Cake. LSD 25.
You know it’s not good for you, but once you discovered how good it tastes you just keep adding more and more of it to the suggested dose.
A bit of it? It’s recreational. A lot of it? It’s suicidal.

Well, what do you know – maybe taking in a lot of those chips is also considered as romance by that friend of mine. Isn’t it a bit like Shakespearean time? Slowly killing yourself for something you thought is love, all the while being plain stupid – because it’s voluntary.

One quick question before I end this pointless rant though.
The idea of romance: will you let this guilty pleasure kill you?