Old Romantic

An old romantic born in the wrong decade
tries to swoon the one he desires with roses and chocolates
while everyone he knows cringes in embarrassment.

She just smiles politely and accepts the gifts,
unsure of whether or not she should speak up now
and let him know this is far from what she had in mind.

He continues to wine and dine her in futile hope,
seeking to sweep her off her feet and carry her over the threshold
to lay by her side having made beautiful, passionate love all night long.

She sits quietly in false pretence while he writes the cheque,
afraid of breaking a wonderful heart who wants to bring only joy
to her life, a smile to her lips and love to her world.

And as he approaches her door, hand clasped in hers,
he swoops for a kiss that he has imagined in his mind
over and over, believing his dreams were about to come true.

But she stops him, as she was always going to,
a lone tear welling in her eye, and she says sorry
over and over, one thousand times in all before shutting her door.

And that night they slept in separate beds three streets away
from each other, both thinking of the other but for different reasons,
One living in lust, the other wishing for love and someone to hold.

(this is the poem I wrote having watched 500 Days of Summer).