I'm not one to wonder with profound interest in matters of relationships and love affairs. I should state this beforehand, because these are some of my thoughts, rather shabby thoughts, on the subject of romantic love. Trust me when I say I have never, ever, shared the romantic view that many a girls seem to have on the topic. I have never wished for a knight in a shining armour, and I don't particularly find my self attracted to white horses, or horses in general. I don't find the "flowers-and-chocolate" move romantic, I find it unoriginal, badly manoeuvred and if not old-fashioned, then at least eternally and timelessly dull. I can buy myself some flowers and chocolate. If that's the best you have to offer as far as originality and thinking go the, please, by all means call me a little Cupid hater. Love? What ever is it for? It's friendship on flames, they yell! Friendship lighted by fire and covered of gun power, and well, it spells doom and despair from the beginning. Forgive me if I sound unsympathetic with the ways of lovers, but I am, so it will be how I come across to someone who finds love a little more... appealing. Some think of love and think of flowers, naturally (they seem ever so attached to this nauseating idea of romantic love, sadly enough for those who love flowers and not love), and princes, fairy tales, and kisses, and love, and sex, and romance, and dinners lighted by candles. Tell me this, and I'll ask you if you are in need of a loan, as you obviously think the lack of electricity is romantic. It isn't. It's just a physical way to convince you that the other person is attractive. Dilate their pupils, and shuusuh! The race most carry on, fornicate, fornicate!

I admit that... I am a spiritualist. I believe in the good of people, or I tend to believe that everyone is capable of good, even the worst of men and women. I believe in things beyond our eyes can see and beyond our physical grasp. Tell me you've seen a ghost, I'll interestedly listen. Tell me of old stories and tales of the beyond and of the old, I will happily sit for hours and talk. Philosophy, literature, horror, fantasy. I have the most natural of tendencies for all that is far-fetched, imaginative and creative. But tell me you've known of a love that last forever, and I will sympathetically smile at you, as I sceptically tell you that I'm no love fan. Not even a fan of love song, not even a fan of romance. I'm just not. Now, granted this doesn't make me the best of lovers, as I tend to shriek and hide whenever we move past physical, and get emotional. Emotions? They're fine. I really do find them interesting. I love to find what makes you tick and shout, what makes you happy, sad, pouting, yelling. I love emotions almost as much as I love causing situations that triggers them, but that's the cruel side of me jumping in. But I don't understand... that feeling of butterflies in your stomach. The weak knees, the flabby legs, the way you seem to change, shift on the inside. That warm, gripping hold over your heart, as the coldness you didn't know was there begins to disappear, being replaced by this oddly filling feeling of... peace.