Darling, you...

I'm not much of a romantic. Half the time, I'm preaching that love is just hormones tricking your mind to get you married and reproduced. Yeah, that's me. I'm pretty sure I don't believe in love. That's a bold statement; but my theory on it is that I'll believe it when I see it--or rather, when I feel it.
I think I feel this way because most guys I ever think about dating seem to only have one thing in mind as far as romance goes: getting physical. Sure, I'll accept that there is some physicality to romance. I love snuggling up to my boyfriend and enjoying a good night kiss. The problem is, that's all guys ever want to do with me. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just too dim to keep up good conversation with, so they decide that making out is the better choice.
I try not to dwell on that theory. Regardless, I'm not much into the whole love thing. Not anymore. I know a few months ago, I was spouting off on this blog how awesome love is and that it's somewhere out there. I admit: it's one of my biggest fears that there isn't someone out there who can sweep me off my feet. It scares me that I may be it for me. I may be single for the rest of my life because I decided not to settle.
Yet, there's still that small, chick-flick loving portion of me that still believes that there is a love out there that is more than just sex and babies. It's warmer than that--at least, that's the feeling I get when I think about it. He doesn't have a face, yet; but I know I love him. Is that weird? I guess it is. And maybe I'll see him around somewhere, or he'll have to fight for me because I'm too self-consumed to notice him at first. I doubt I already know him; but then again, he could not exist.
Anyway, enough of my gushing about lovey dovey crap. I'm tired of thinking about it. I may have to go take a nap, now. Or take a cold shower.