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Carrie Bradshaw and I must be born in the wrong era. Observing from our love expectations and sky high hope of finding a true love (also known as extinct species by the end of 2000), we are not suitable for the millennial.
We, crumbly and flimsy creatures, are too weak to survive the jungle of love. Do not mistaken us, romance is so different today. It has risen its bar so high that the participants need to go to war to win some body's affection. By war means keeping your body in size 2, neatly trimmed eyebrows and killer home cooking. Well, Carrie maybe size 2 while I'm in size 8 (and going), but we both can only cook boiled water. We put so much trust in someone and take whatever comes out of his mouth as the truth. We are easy target just because we believe that someone can be devoted as much ad we do. And even after all the free-falling-turned-ugly, we're still standing back and fighting. I think, we both are warriors indeed. But we're definitely no winner.
Let's say, it does exist. So where should we go to find it? How long will it takes till we cross path? Are we strong enough to hold on till the day comes?
One thing you should know, Carrie and I are melodramatic. We dream a love like the ones from Jane Austen's book, or Titanic. We dream of a cheesy, full of bullshit, time consuming, 4th of July firecracker, head over heels love. We live for love and die in love. We are hopeless romantic, who regularly get slapped by the 6 a.m alarm, reminding us to get back to reality.
Feel free to ignore us whenever we start romanticising the starry sky and the silver moon. We can't help it.
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