It is a torturous thing to be of such
Romantic sensibilities as mine.
My favorite heroines of fiction wear
This affliction close to their hearts,
While I stagger under its force.
Its mass times its acceleration.
Its heavy despair then its rapid exhilaration.
The knock-your-breath-out disappointments
Then the take-your-breath-away thrills.
But such is the sorrow of my life,
That my heart spends its days in an illusion of calm
While it waits to burst out of my chest.
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