I hate books about love. Why? Because everything's there described so beautifully, there are so much delights and cute details. And if it's a first-person narration there are such descriptions of behavior, appearance and character of another man that you'll never meet anywhere else. They do never repeat. Unwittingly in such moments you take a thought how you could be described in a book. And relationships are always so unusual, you read and it seems like you get into a man's soul. And everything's so beautiful, like in paradisal gardens. And the most awful thing is that many people expect the same things from real life. Stupid, they confuse fantasy with reality and their dreams break on it every time and the man gives up on life. Whose fault in it? Authors of books who unbelievably well describe their dreams or those who really think that it can be real? To tell you the truth, I have never heard about a bookish love in reality. Never. That's why you have to learn to content things that you have, understand that even this is not available to many people and appreciate every moment of your relationship, I'm speaking not only about love, but about family and friendship ties, but not wait till you'll finally get what you've been reading and dreaming about. Although, on the other hand, if your beautiful dream is available, why can't you start making steps in that way? Just take matters in your own hands, but not whine that you're unhappy and life is unfair with you. It's up to you.