A handwritten letter means more to me than some text message on my cell phone. One single yellow rose means more to me than a bouquet of red roses. A book from a bookstore means more to me than some alcoholic beverage at the bar. A simple heart who is a hopeless romantic is who I am. A 21st century woman born in the wrong time. One that craves chilvary, love, and complete utter passion in everything and in my everyday life. Although I am a worldly woman, have soared through the skies with my poetry, and have fought for the rights of others; this beating heart is and will always belong to a time of regency. Where the clothes were modest yet slightly revealing of the bosom; where the men were more like Colonel Brandon and Captain Wentworth, even if there were men like
Willoughby. But nowadays, there are more Willoughby’s and few Colonel Brandon’s and Captain Wentworth’s.
A feminist, I am. But I am also a woman who appreciates kind gestures, opening of doors and pulling out chairs, confessions of a person who expresses that he is so ardently in love with me.
No matter where I go, at least three books come along. Each of different settings, characters and genre. My beating heart, intelligent mind and enlightening soul would much rather walk around outside with a book in my hand and listen to the birds chirp, watch the sun rise and set, and enjoy a nice picnic. Although it is now the 21at century, I was born in the 20th. Curly hair, a few tattoos, and an apartment filled with books. Even though this fact is true, my heart belongs in the regency era.