I'm a huge romantic but I've been unlucky in love.

“I’m a huge romantic but I’ve been unlucky in love.” Thus speaks Kym Marsh, with words that echo the sigh of countless hearts across the ages. Within her confession lies the paradox of the human spirit: to be filled with romance, to dream of love in its purest form, and yet to meet with unluckiness, with disappointments, betrayals, or losses that seem to mock the very ideals one holds most dear. It is the eternal struggle between hope and fate, between the yearning of the heart and the cruelty of circumstance.

To be a romantic is to walk the earth with eyes lifted toward beauty, believing that love is more than survival—that it is poetry, destiny, a union of souls. But fate does not always reward such faith. Many who give themselves with openness and passion find their trust shattered, their tenderness met with indifference. Marsh’s words stand as testimony to this truth: that love, though divine, is never guaranteed, and that one may carry a great heart yet still stumble through loneliness.

The ancients told this story again and again. Consider the tale of Heloïse and Abelard, lovers bound by passion and intellect, yet torn apart by cruelty and circumstance. Their letters reveal souls burning with romance, yet their lives were scarred by tragedy. Was their love false? No—it was vast and true, but unlucky. They remind us, as Marsh does, that misfortune in love does not erase the greatness of the heart that dares to love.

History also remembers figures like Beethoven, whose letters to his “Immortal Beloved” burn with longing, though the union he desired was never his. His music still carries that fire, for though he was unlucky in love, his romantic spirit lived on, transformed into immortal art. Thus misfortune in love need not destroy; it can refine, transmute, and echo through the ages in other forms of beauty.

Marsh’s words also speak of resilience. To confess being unlucky in love is not to confess defeat, but to reveal endurance: she remains a huge romantic despite her pain. This is heroic. For many, unluckiness hardens the heart, breeds cynicism, and buries hope beneath bitterness. Yet she stands with heart unashamed, still believing in the romance of love, still open to the possibility of beauty despite the wounds.

The lesson, then, is profound: do not measure your worth by the outcomes of love. To be romantic is itself a triumph, for it means you have not allowed the world to steal your wonder. If fortune denies you, do not let it make you cold. Better to be unlucky in love than never to love at all; better to stumble with heart aflame than to walk unscarred but empty.

Therefore, beloved listener, take Kym Marsh’s words as a beacon. If you have been unlucky in love, do not despair. Let each disappointment carve your heart deeper, so that when love does come, it may fill you all the more. Do not surrender your romance; guard it as treasure, for it keeps you young, tender, and alive. And remember: luck may come and go, but the soul that remains romantic will always rise again, ready to embrace love when destiny finally opens the door.