I may be Hopeless, at Least I'm Romantic

When will my great love come? If ever there were a “great love.” It must be hidden under the rock of ignorance and contempt. I look around and I behold a sea of Trojan Horses prancing and conniving. Beware of Greeks bearing gifts. To experience that agape would chase away the demons of my lesser self. And what if the “better half” is a reverse side of a tormented coin? I used to think that relationships were doomed to the peril of past mistakes. Now I learn from the past. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still follow me around. Poking me with sticks every so often, just to make sure I never get too comfortable. The past and the present converge. That sense of nostalgia is what holds me back and yet keeps me grounded. Foolishly, I look for what I have been looking for all along. I found it once, but timing is everything and you know how naiveté coupled with bad timing can foul things. I march on with fresh pessimism and a fine-tuned magnifying glass. Sherlock of love, looking for a clue or a needle— whichever the haystack produces. How did you know it was right, lovebird? Did your song tune entice the one? And what if the one comes and goes, am I supposed to settle for number two? Maybe the second replaces the first. I think my list needs to be adjusted.