19th century writers knew love better than anyone. Find me a 21st century romance novel in which the main couple not only don't have sex but barely touch at all and it might take you a while. Nowadays half of love seems to be lust. But in 1812, a glance, a waltz or a quick exchange of a few words could send your heart racing like 6 chapters of 50 Shades. And Elizabeth Bennett and Mr.Darcy's non-physical romance will always give me butterflies and make me blush. Without completely turning me on. Because there is more to romance than turning someone on. It's that strange, stressful, impatient panicky feeling you get in your chest. That's your heart losing its shit.
In my recent years I've met a guy. He wasn't like most guys. My time with him was brief but wonderful. When all was said and done and I look back, what I had with this guy of mine was very similar to a 19th century novel. We talked for hours. We held hands. We fell asleep next to each other once. We shared glances that still haunt me. There wasn't even a kiss I could tell you about. But to this day he still has more of me than a guy who could tell you my most intimate details. Sometimes I get sad because that guy isn't around anymore. But mostly I smile because I know what a 19th century love feels like. A real love. Real feelings that creep out from the inside. Not the kind that come in from the outside. It's an inner peace and at the same time inner chaos. It's like a Jane Austen novel. I wish more writers today knew how to make you feel that way without sex on top of sex. Don't get me wrong, I'm the first to holler that something is missing a sex scene! But that's because if a story teller just isn't making me feel it for real, the yearning and the panicky feeling in my heart, a sex scene is a good way to fake it. But in 1812 they never needed to fake it. They knew what love was about. And they sure knew how to write about it.
