Romanticizing Romance

 I’ve lived enough to believe that it doesn’t exist - 

This sought after abstract bit.

Romance is dead? Or perhaps sleeping?

‘Cause it seems to always miss me in its moments a fleeting.

I used to wonder what it might be like,

But I’m grown up now and those thoughts now seem childlike.

The “magic” spoken of, the butterflies mentioned - 

The illusive picture painted, the fallible pretensions.

I once craved this gem that didn’t seem so rare,

I even blamed myself and thought it a fear.

But I’m no longer afraid of such a common thing,

For I now look towards less vulgar settings.

Since experiences taught much and forecasts gave me my cue.

If it should present itself to me now, I’d think it not true.