I can see why love is oft confused with magic-
Even hexes are considered spells,
And I must be bewitched, or cursed,
For the things I do these days.
Thoughts I once found easy to dismiss
Returned with a vengeance now,
Almost solidified by the thought
That maybe I wasn't alone in feeling this way
I feel like someone else, so different,
And I think back in time
Like I recollect the memories of another
Except for a vague familiarity.
Could it really be me,
Who once proclaimed with assurance
That love and such like
Was a pipedream sold by media
To keep the idle minds sated and sedate?
Am I the cynic who shrugged at romance,
Or this girl who smiles at her phone
Waiting for a man to call her?