Modern Romanticism

The aspect of romance, divided between the heartening and the thoughtful.

Requesting Critique – Excerpt – “A Pattern in Love” – Chapter II – 11/8/2019

November 8, 2019

A new smell brings Adrian to lower his head, and recede out of his stupefaction to the sight of the door, where through its ajar position, Catherine has poked in her head.

A smile warms her face to the cheekbones, and forces the tension inside of Adrian to walk itself out of another door, that is the door of his heart; and out of the heart, it goes, to commit suicide out of the window. What would tension look like as a pile of innards upon the walkway? Perhaps it would look like nothing, because no one would miss it.

She hands him her stare, in which he takes with his own.

All tears, in love, are the tokens for appreciation, because we only cry when we wish someone to see, to notice, those waters. Unleashed from a frail heart, are such tears, raining from Adrian’s eyes like dew that trails itself along a blade of grass.

He runs to her.

Adrian runs to Catherine, for an embrace, and a kiss upon her mouth so that he may taste her tongue.

He wants to taste her tongue, taste her words as though they are literally upon its flesh.

It is a woman’s tongue that is the color of scarlet, a pinkish hue too easy to notice, to be ever blind to; and, as love floats along the air like the pollen in the month of May, we breathe it, without noticing.

When men see a woman, hear her speech, they ought to go into a state of admiration for her voice, so much that he should weep before its sound.

As she may weep, so should a man weep.

“I have become an alcoholic, after I made her cry,” says the feeling man, who committed the gravest error. The feeling man, as any feeling man, will drink sorrow away, because he failed to drink a woman’s tears.


Novel – Excerpt – “A Pattern in Love” – Dialogue – Romantic Work – 11/5/2019

November 5, 2019

She places hand against hand, to stroke the flesh of the overturned palm of this man, this Adrian, who plays a delicate tune aloud, in a stream. A wonderful and melodious tune, that drives up his emotion to the clouds, to where God could say, “You are playing well,” and Adrian keeps playing.

Though, without opening his eyes, he says to her, “You are cold. Have you been outside for long?”

She counters his words with a false smile, signalling the truth, that she had been outside for long. What she does next is speak a few words to him, and they are words that could create disagreement from Adrian, were they not uttered in their gentle tone. For she says, “My dear, I was not alone outside, for I had you in my thoughts. You warmed me, as you always did.”

Still, does he not open his eyes, and he says to her, “You were beautiful, once, and perhaps you still are; though, my eyes are too far closed to see beyond the lids that have shut my vision. I have been focused on this piece for nearly half an hour. Should I open them to see you?”

“You may open them. But, when you do, I may be in the next room, still pretending to look for you,” and he felt her smile, felt its warmth, upon when she spoke these words.