I decided earlier that romance is the abolition of wishes and passion for the wish and passion of another person.
This means, in other words, that the driving force of a life is at some point subverted, and re-directed towards another person instead of an object orientated goal. Temporarily or otherwise, the wellspring of ambition becomes spent: books are drowned in the river because of a new and interesting centerpiece of one's existence.
We carry around with us, then, the potential to at some point negate everything we have ever worked for - but in doing so, we are still only halfway towards sweeping our new lover away on a tide of sentimentality.
Once the notion of romance has taken root in the mind, we are still to understand the current which underlies its every transaction, and thereafter to hold up our hands and admit to it.
In every case, the romantic gesture equates to an admission of weakness, and a method - delivered voluntarily - to exploit it. The handing over of a flower, or a piece of homemade poetry is the key which unlocks the human vulnerability we spend vast swathes of our day trying to disguise.
In a society where weakness or perceived weakness is openly derided and preyed upon, the ultimate sacrifice we can make is to give another person our flaws and the tools by which they can be dragged out into the light. We make a gift of the ungainly, unvirtuous and chaotic, and this is the foundation of all that is romantic.
The completion of this pendulum motion - from self-absorbed to absorbed fully in another person - is the public declaration that, yes, I am replete with a million problems, and I entrust this individual not to deliberately worsen them.
Such recognition comes in the form of a gift or gifts which act as a tactile reminder of the unspoken promise that was made at some point in the past: at least some of the time, my flaws will leak through the pores of my skin, and you'll be disgusted. Remember how you used to think that the romantic encapsulated the tender, delicate, and beautiful? Inside that cladding rages the dark shaft of the unconscious mind, and it is this which I hand over to you in the guise of a rose.