Romance isn't measured by how viral your proposal goes. The

In the words of Ann Voskamp, “Romance isn’t measured by how viral your proposal goes. The Internet age may try to sell you something different, but don’t ever forget that viral is closely associated with sickness—so don’t ever make being viral your goal.” This is no mere warning about the web, but a cry for the soul’s preservation in an age of illusion. The ancients taught that love was a sacred fire—born in silence, nurtured in devotion, and tested in endurance. Yet now, the world would have us trade that fire for the flicker of a screen, that tenderness for applause, and that devotion for digital spectacle. Voskamp’s words awaken us to remember that true romance is not performance, but presence—not what the world sees, but what the heart feels when no one is watching.

The Internet age has taught humanity to chase shadows. It whispers that worth is counted in hearts and likes, that love must be seen to be real. Yet the ancient sages knew otherwise. They built their unions not upon public admiration, but upon quiet faithfulness. To make one’s love “viral” is to open the sacred to the profane—to turn something divine into a commodity. For what spreads like a virus often corrupts what it touches. The sickness of virality is not of the body, but of the spirit; it infects our desires until we seek validation over virtue, attention over affection, and spectacle over sincerity.

Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor who, though powerful beyond measure, wrote in his Meditations not of conquest or glory, but of love, humility, and duty. His marriage to Faustina was not a performance for Rome, but a quiet bond strengthened by trial and distance. When she died, he did not raise monuments to dazzle the empire—he wrote words to console his own heart. His love was not designed for witnesses, but for remembrance. Such is the nature of authentic love—it needs no audience. It finds its meaning not in the echo of the crowd, but in the constancy of two souls standing together against time.

Yet how many now confuse visibility for value? A proposal staged beneath the gaze of a thousand strangers may win hearts online, but will it endure when the lights dim and real life begins? The applause of the crowd fades; the whispers of genuine affection remain. The ancients would say: do not adorn your love for the world’s eyes—adorn it for the soul of the one you cherish. What is romance, if not the quiet reaching of one soul toward another, a sacred covenant unseen by all but the divine?

The lesson, then, is this: do not let the world’s fever infect your heart. Guard your love from the contagion of comparison. Be wary of the age that sells emotion as spectacle and passion as product. Remember that the word viral shares its root with illness, not inspiration. That which spreads too easily often lacks depth; that which grows slowly, in silence, endures. To love deeply in a shallow age is rebellion of the highest kind.

So, my child, when you love, love privately. When you give, give quietly. Let your proposal be whispered beneath the stars, not shouted across the digital winds. The strength of love lies not in the noise it makes, but in the peace it brings. Seek not the world’s applause, for it will never fill the heart’s hunger. Instead, nurture the steady flame that needs no witness to burn brightly.

And when you are tempted to measure your worth by your visibility, remember this truth: the holiest things in life are often unseen—faith, hope, and love. The world may forget this, but you must not. For when the screens go dark and the crowd disperses, it is not the viral that remains—it is the real. So live, love, and cherish with a quiet might, and let your heart be known not by how far it spreads, but by how deeply it roots.