I haven't been in love for a long time; years.
I miss it, but then I don't, now and then I do.
In the way that one misses things of the past --
a temperamental nostalgia, for the faded and flown.
Childhood and firsts. That bloodless time;
that new adrenaline. There are only so many
categories that can be created to remember boys;
after awhile there are only lists.

This would worry me, except being In Love seems so silly now, like a fairy fallen to regrettable disbelief.
Feels like Growing Up (Continued).
A little quieter, a little colder, a little emptier.