Putting the hopeless in romantic

Well, this is gonna be a cheery post. You can tell by the title. So is it still schadenfreude if you are laughing at your own misery or is there a different German word for it? Which is a stupid question. Of course there is a German word for it. There is a German word for everything. But I digress.

In talking with someone the other day, I realized that I have found myself in a peculiar dichotomy. I am a hopeless romantic in the traditional sense but also in the literal sense. That is to say that I believe in love, but that, at least in my own case, it is hopeless. That there is no chance.

What makes the prospect even more terrible, even more insidious, is that it has the sense of being fact, based in reason rather than emotion. It is the sense that the sun shines and I am alone. Both statements are simple observations. They just are.

No sorrow. No tears. No hope.

Maybe somewhere deep within me there is a well of hope for this, but, at least for now, I cannot reach it with the paltry thread of string, and so the bucket returns dry. Yet, I know there has to be water, so I keep throwing down the bucket. Dry. It keeps returning dry.

Can I keep writing without the hope of a muse?

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