I believe in romance.
I believe in flowers--the frothier and frillier and girlier the better--wrapped in paper with ribbon and a handwritten note. I believe in roses and candles and a kiss on a terrace, and serenades and love poems and x's and o's. I believe in a starlit walk through a park in the snow and in the warmth of a hand holding another's, tucked deep in the folds of an overcoat. I believe in Louis Armstrong on vinyl--and Ella and Edith and Dean and, oh, anyone whose voice makes your heart beat fast and the night go slow. I believe in red and white and pink and lace and dark truffles dipped in cocoa.
I believe in the gesture, the smile, the sweet word softly spoken in the wee hours with the lights low. I believe in the slow dance that lingers when the song is over. I believe in the hand that cradles my neck and the one that holds my own. I believe in never looking back. I believe in never letting go.