I could never write a romance

I want to. I really, really do.

But my romantic imagination is so stunted that I could never write a happy, or even a hopeful, ending. Hell, I can't even imagine what a conversation between people in love would look like. I don't know how it feels saying "I love you," and meaning it. I don't even know what it feels like to say, "I really like you," and get a response that suggests that the other person likes you as well.

I've never been on a date quirky enough to spark imaginations. I've never sat on a couch with someone I like sitting on me. I've never sat through a movie for the purpose of making out. I've never even sat through a movie holding hands. I don't think I've ever held someone's hand romantically.

Any romance I might write would be stunningly generic and boring. I'm not sure I could write women as anything more than vague ideas I associate with future happiness. I'm not sure I could write men who aren't thinly disguised versions of myself.

I would get stuck on phrases that sound cheesy - they look lovingly into each other's eyes; they hold hands, walking on the beach; they rock a rocking bench, watching the sun set over the beach; they look up at the sky and think about the happiness of this moment; they eat ramen and smile as they make fun of the movie they're watching; they trade inside jokes at a formal gathering, glad that the other's presence saves them from having to make small-talk with the sheeple; they spend the afternoon surfing in California, and the evening with a bottle of rum, the beach, and a jukebox playing Classic Rock; they run through the campus' fountain; they ride horses over the rolling plains; they fall asleep on each other without sleeping with each other; they compare the way they eat cereal in the morning; they ride to the horizon in a convertible, wearing cool sunglasses and letting their hair blow in the wind; they say "I love you" without ever actually saying it; they finish each other's sentences; they wonder about the meaning of life; they make plans for the future; they talk about how awesome their children would be; they roll around in the fall leaves and the winter snow drifts; they bask in the summer; they walk through the flowers in the spring; they walk arm-in-arm into a Broadway play; they wonder how it is that they are aging; they affirm that the other one is attractive; they imagine together; they live together; they "grow in and in to one another, for mutual support and nourishment, in intricate symbiosis" (Star Maker by Olaf Stapledon). 


See? I can't do it. That's not a romance. At best that's a B movie. Throw in a blown out of proportion misunderstanding and weird minor characters as their best friends, and it is the most standard of romcoms. At worst it's a bunch of drivel that is not only not even remotely related to real romance, but also makes a bad movie. Like Star Wars Episode II, if you just consider the scenes between Anakin and Padme (which could quite possibly be the worst movie ever).


I wonder if this is a Catch-22. Am I so unable to imagine romance that I'm incapable of supporting it? Does this mean I should give up because any relationship I could start is doomed not only to fail, but to fail spectacularly, crashing, burning, and proving utterly unfulfilling in the meanwhile outside of the enjoyment people might get from watching a train crash in slow motion? 


Do I even know what I want? I feel like I don't. I have so little experience with romance that I couldn't say whether or not I want something. I'm like a small child who asks for wine when he sees his parents drinking - the question of which wine is meaningless to them, they are quite likely not to like the wine you give them, and the real reason they want it is because they can see other people enjoying it.


I'm tired of watching other people enjoy romance.
I'm tired of watching other people be unbearably cute. 
I'm tired of watching romance movies late at night alone.


Therefore I have decided to move to Madagascar to be hermit. There are several reasons for this. First, as a hermit, I will no longer have to watch other people's romances. Second, in the event of a global pandemic, I'll survive because Madagascar will stop letting people enter its ports. Third, no one will think to look for me in Africa. Fourth, I bet the natives mostly don't speak English. Fifth, it seems more likely to result in my long-term happiness than sticking it out here and hoping for the best with women.


Good night and good luck.