Love story dud

I started to write a love story. It was going to be full of romance and near misses. It started out well enough. I had my Romeo and Juliette, an afternoon alone, and the hazy hangover from a good book.
The afternoon over, I took a juice break and came back to look at what I had. My love story was treacherous and tragic. What I had meant to be love was nothing like it. My Juliette was bitter and guarded, Romeo was unfeeling and aloof. It had all the makings of a romance but lacked something.
It came to me slowly, because I held it off for as long as I could. There could be no epic story where love wins out in the end because I know nothing of true love. I could quote the best romances but I could not write them. I might have had a chance but for one thing. It was not simply that I did not know, it was that I did not believe.

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