Maturity?

Why does the world expect us to grow up? If we suceed at what we do and enjoy doing it, what does it matter if we're not all serious and somber about it? If I want to burst out into song--even if it's not some feel good song no one's ever heard before--why do people have to stare like I'm a moron? Why is it okay in a movie but not okay in real life? Why can't fantasy be reality and why can't true romance really exist?

Gawd. I hate being a romantic. Hardcore hopeless-fairytale-stargazing-fantastical romantic. That is me. Nobody knows it except for anyone who is reading this right now. And my aussie boy. But yeah. That is me. I wish everyday for a man who will sweep me off my feet. Someone who will smile and maybe join in when I start humming or when I burst into song. Someone who will try to spin me around the dance floor and laugh along with me as I fall all over both my left feet. Someone to cuddle and someone to snuggle and someone to hold on a cold winter's night. Or someone to hold me. Either or. Doesn't matter so long as there's body warmth and a kiss or two to go along with it. Someone who can understand what I want and not be afraid of it. I want a person who...I want a person who doesn't exist...*sigh* I hate being a romantic.

"I've been thinking." "...Thinking? O_o"

The Darkness of Tragedy has finally been updated. Not much...but I've been getting the itch to write again, so it's been updated, my rediculous attempt at NaNo '07 has been added to, and I've started on yet another project that will probably never be finished, or titled, as my works are so prone to be. Joy.