"You just haven't earned it yet, baby."

I wasn't raised to see things for what they are. The glasses are always rose-colored. Sweet accordion music is always playing off in the distance, and the smell of fresh-baked bread abounds. But to accept that romantic notions are only for the foolish would deny me the heart swells that come with a glimpse of a particularly beautiful moon or the sighing that follows a whispered sentiment, as long as it's a sweet one. To forsake all belief in the possibility of something perfect and wonderful would feel like signing up for an eternity in an iron lung. No. Not me. Not while there is a lyric left in me. Not while there is a new shade of lipstick to be bought. Not while there are smiles and surprises and supper clubs.

But then I once wanted to go to clown college, so what do I know.