A well written story encourages me to fall in love, again. 

While I read,
While I watch. 
Then it ends. 
A well written tale of loves triumph over deleterious obstacles makes me want that same affection. 
But, after what I’ve been through. 
I feel that it just isn’t real. 
If only I could take from a script, from a novella’s pages,
Remove the happy, determined protagonist, erase his or her name replacing it with mine. 
I’ll be the star whose love on the screen or written pages become something sublime. 
A well written story, actors that perform confidently with chemistry. Characters, their verses written down, speaking organically. 
Another incredible love story is all I should need, to take me away from my own heart break for 110mins in a dark and slightly crowed room, or over 500 pages I’ll read. 
Steady developing relationships draw me in 
The setting for their first meeting, 
Who made whom smile
And a well described first kiss.
Are all encouragement for me to fall into the whirl, into the the uncertainty of love again.
Then I am in left in limbo…
The story always ends. 
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