I was on the tube this morning, looking through crusty eyes and yawning to myself, trying to blend in with the other robots that glare at the newspapers. There I was with my battered copy of Jane Eyre, reading about the so called 'gypsy' describing Jane to herself. But then my mind wandered - as my mind usually does - and I looked up. I accidentally caught the eye of an unattractive twenty-something guy and looked away. I accidentally looked back and saw him, staring - he obviously thought I meant more than my clumsy intention so I looked away. I kept unintentionally looking back - checking where my stop was on the map, trying to make out what the person besides me was reading - and still he looked. I awkwardly departed.
I looked over and saw a girl who was smirking, she was looking at someone. I followed her gaze and noticed she was looking at a man who was smirking back. A few coy glances down to the ground and then back up again. Oi Oi!
The two encounters on the tube got me thinking of romance. People long for romance, they dream about it, they soak up media that shows us every kind of romance. Strangers on a train turned lovers - what could be more romantic? A book that slips off your lap and then a handsome stranger picks it up? These cliches, for want of a better word, have become cliches because we have seen them so many times and want to see them in our lives.
Just a little thought about romance. My mind, however, was mainly consumed with Jane Eyre and how fucked up that book actually is.
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