A guy in a song on YouTube is singing about stars blowing around
and how he’d really like to see this woman tonight.
And I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t be listening to such songs because
they get me thinking too much about that feeling the guy is having
that need, that desire to see that woman, the joy, the love he is feeling.
And I vicariously start feeling and remember how wondrous such feelings are.
And momentarily I pine a bit for days in the past when I was that guy
really wanting to see a woman I loved on a moonlit, starry night.
But I don’t let myself get attached too much to those romantic feelings,
those romantic memories. I let them go and repress the nearly
irrepressible romantic in me that occasionally rises up from my heart
despite my attempts to ignore those feelings at an age and monklike
existence when I feel I should be beyond such fanciful, silly thoughts
and completely devoid of and impervious to them.
But, alas, such is not the case, and at least a less romantic song is
playing now where a guy is singing about werewolves in London.
And the werewolves have chased away my romantic feelings
and probably frightened away those stars that were blowing around in the other song.
Bob Boyd
