I am an incurable romantic at heart.  I love the saddest, most gut-wrenching movies and books.  If there is lost love, forbidden love, insurmountable hardships in love, I am instantly fixated. 

As a teenager, I watched The Thorn Birds several times and sobbed each time I watched it; whilst going through my own hardships, I bought the DVD set at the local store and watched it again, and this time, sobbed so much that my eyes were red puff balls for two days.  When asked why I looked like I was near death due to the red eye syndrome, there was no way I was going to admit to watching a 1970’s sheep-infested mini-drama, so I made up some sad story which existed only in my mind.

One of my all-time favourite movies, which no-one seems to understand, is Autumn in New York.  I am not sure if it is Richard Gere, or the sadness that exists within the script, or the fact that it is set in my favourite city, at my favourite time of year, but that movie for me, is a heart stopper.  And now part of that story seems to be playing out here – it is Autumn, the leaves are turning and falling, the Johannesburg skies are crystal clear, the temperature has thankfully dropped a little, and the fact that there is no longer that unbearable heat on a daily basis means that finally, the make-up has stopped sliding off my face by 7am in the school parking lot.

But the point here, is, why does every good love story have to have a taste of sadness, tragedy, loss or longing in order to make it more readable or watchable?  It is sayings such as “it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”, and “the path of true love never does run smooth” that makes us go running faster to that book store or cinema.  It seems that if there is heartache or heartbreak to some great degree, the story sells. 

As a happily single middle aged maiden not in distress, it does make me wonder if I need to expect some sort of complication in my next relationship (this is assuming there IS a next relationship) in order to make it more real, more plausible, and more likely to last for longer than twelve weeks?  Do I need to love, then lose, then be pursued, then won back, and then, only then, enter into an “everlasting love” scenario? 

After much thought, the jury is still out on this debate for me, but I have to say, that if movie-like difficulties are the way of the world called love, I think I may stick to my microwave pop-corn and my triple DVD set called The Thorn Birds.