Everybody calls themselves “hopeless romantics” now, as if it were something cool and stylish, like “infinite (insert corny word here)” tattoos or hipster glasses. You, my friend, have no idea what it feels like. It’s like romantc PTSD. You have no idea how it feels when you fall in love so hard with someone that you have imaginary conversations with them while driving your car alone. Every song with even the slightest romantic tinge will transport you to a fantasy. Those cute little .gifs on tumblr? The sappy ones everyone reblogs? You dream about living like that. You’re in love with love. Being friendzoned means crying into your pillow for months on end with little to no sleep. You cling to any shred of hope to be with that person. You read too much into everything. Every unanswered text message is an existential crisis. You will ask yourself what is wrong with you more times than you’ll brush your damn teeth. All for this unreachable ideal of a person that you think you know, but never will. My friend, being a hopeless romantic is not a twitter bio, it is a Sisyphean task.