Being a Hopeless Romantic is Exhausting
Seriously. And I'm not even a very good one. In the interest of not causing horrendous and unproductive awkwardness, I have minimized my John Cusack Index this year (the JCI measures the number of boomboxes lifted above the shoulders, number of windows shouted at in the dead of night, and other such actions). Mostly I restrict myself to the odd inscrutable comment in the midst of otherwise normal conversations. And poetry, but that's pretty inscrutable too (or at least plausibly deniable).

And after all that, it takes a certain kind of stubbornness to choose a dumb love over a smarter apathy (I am fairly sure that at some point it becomes a choice). It keeps you up at night. Of course, a lot of things can. What I really worry about is the heat death of the universe... well, occasionally. My sense of perspective has a tendency to go briefly overboard before resetting to "When's lunch?".

Semi-relevant Mountain Goats lyric: too slow to catch them all, not too far gone to care.

More relevant Dire Straits lyric ("Romeo and Juliet"):
She says, "Hey it's Romeo, ya nearly gave me a heart attack./
He's underneath the window, she's singin' "Hey la, my boyfriend's back./
You shouldn't come around here, singin' up at people like that./
Anyway, whatcha gonna do about it?"

Astute observers will observe (that is what they do) that I'd written two songs about Romeo and Juliet before I knew and loved this one.