As a teenager I read dozens, maybe, hundreds of Mills and Boon romance books. There was little variety in plotlines. A tall, dark, handsome man would meet a beautiful woman and while the two fall in love, complications ensue. Then the inevitable happens –they realize how meaningless life would be without each other and so they get married and live happily ever after. What can I say: I’m a sucker for happy endings. It’s not that I’m unaware of the harsh realities of relationships. I’ve had considerable exposure to headlines of suicidal individuals who have been spurned by their ex-loves. I’ve listened to friends’ accounts of love affairs gone bad. I know the cliches. Life is not a bed of roses. Life is just a bowl of pits. And so on and so forth. Yet none of these carry as much weight as the idea of an emotion so potent that a person’s life is transformed.
History is crammed with stories of men and women who conquer the odds to end up entwined in one another’s arms. The media do endless coverages of couples who valiantly fight against those who wish to put distance between them. A prince who gives up his throne for the woman he adores. A princess in love with her soldier husband defying the royal family. When love is so strong and unwavering, everyone who is a witness to it is touched and even inspired to seek their own path to this blissful state. I don’t care what the cynics say. To love and be loved is an amazing, amazing thing. And a happy ending (even in the sorriest romance pulp) is always something to look forward to.
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