Hopelessly Romantic Kind of Heart

My Dear Stranger,

I used to be hopelessly romantic.

Not the loud kind—

not the kind that posts love like a headline.

Mine was quiet. Private. Gentle.

The kind that believes in small gestures:

a hand reaching for yours without asking,

a message that arrives at the exact moment your chest feels too heavy,

a “I’m here” that doesn’t need explanation.

I carried that "heart" like it was a gift.

Like it was safe.

Back then, I thought love was simple.

not easy, but simple.

If I felt it, I gave it.

If I cared, I showed it.

I loved like a candlelight that didn’t know how to be anything but bright.

Then the breaking happened.

It didn’t arrive like a storm.

It came like silence that kept getting longer.

Like effort that slowly became one-sided.

Like promises that sounded warm in the moment,

then freeze into nothing.

And I remember the day I realized:

I was holding a whole ocean,

and offering it to someone who always only brought a cup.

My Dear Stranger,

I didn’t stop being romantic.

I just got self-control... walls... barriers..

Even now, I still feel things intensely. Deeply.

I still notice the moon.

I still believe in soul-language.

I still want to write love into ordinary days.

But I hold back.

Because romantic hearts don’t just love,

They invest.

They build futures in their mind.

They picture you in their prayers.

They place trust gently, like a glass object,

hoping no one swings their arms carelessly.

So I learned to protect it.

I learned how to smile without revealing too much.

How to care without confessing.

How to miss in silence.

How to admire from a distance,

because distance is where I can still keep my feelings intact.

My Dear Stranger,

People think I’m cold now.

Heartless.

Untouch.

But the truth is,

I'm softhearted. A lover girl. A clingy one. A crybaby.

I’m still romantic.

I’m just scared to be seen as one.

Scared that the moment I soften,

and show the full version of my heart,

Someone will confuse softness with weakness.

and leave when it becomes inconvenient.

So I keep love behind glass. Freeze.

Not because I stopped believing,

I imagine love that feels safe.

Love that doesn’t punish my honesty and flaws.

Love that doesn’t make me beg to be chosen.

I imagine someone who doesn’t judge my weirdness and flaws.

Someone who doesn’t ask me to change.

Someone who sees my sensitive and romantic heart

and says, “Don’t hide it. I can hold it carefully.”

My Dear Stranger,

I didn’t become less romantic.

I became more intentional.

I’m not waiting for a perfect person.

I’m waiting for a safe one.

Until then,

I will keep my love alive in small ways

in prayers, in letters, in quiet loyalty,

In the way, I still believe that love can be gentle and strong at the same time.

And when the right hands arrive,

It won’t be just a half-love.

I’ll be the same romantic heart,

just finally..unafraid.

Accept.