A love song
still brings goosebumps
like tiny fingers.
Even my skin
wants to reach out.
We meet, and I know this feeling:
the spark, the currents flowing
between us.
Do I trust it now,
as I have before?  
Or am I too tired
for this, anymore?

I remember being young
watching TV romances
bloom and wither
and wondering why
adults complicate things so.
It must be an act,
they must be pretending,
I thought...

And aren’t we?
Maybe it’s that
I’m tired of,
and not merely
another lost love.