In which I continue to insist that I don't write romances

I have a lot of disconnected pieces of RY and only two more months to turn it into a readable first draft. Since the change up at work, I haven't written more than a few sentences, so tonight I sat down, opened a fresh page, and wrote what the story is about.

Well, no. I wrote down what happens in the story. That's more concrete. ( There is no wedding in the end, no happily-ever-after, or even big, steamy kiss of requited love. )

At the heart of things, I still see myself as the unrequited one. The unlovable. In spite of glaring contradiction! I am loved, I have been loved. It's from that view of myself that my attitude toward romance comes. I suppose that I believe that love out-of-balance is truth. Chalk it up to terrible lessons learned from popular entertainment and fiction. Though, it is not just that. I believe that being loved by someone else is secondary to knowing and loving oneself. In fact, that it is unstable to build a romance-relationship on any other foundation.

Most of all, I don't see the romance as the end. What good is falling in love with someone unless there are further adventures?