People expect desperation of shattered love to happen at 4:00am on a lonely Tuesday.
Wanting. Waiting.
Tears sheding from the soul landing into the pitted darkness of  emptiness on your pillow.
Or would that would be a romantic paradise.                                                           
And then there are people who expect desperation of shattered love to be only when your heart shakes with weakening knees.
Craving. Chasing.
Anxiously pacing, ears awake for the defining ring that your silence ridden phone will never obtain.
Or would that be a romantic paradise.

And then there is a real desperation of shattered love which is unexpected at midday's most peaceful.
Smiling. Surprising.
But then realising that the hole in your heart is bleeding their name and so suddenly you dont know what to do with your head.
Maybe that is romance in its finest paradise.