Here We Go Again…

I can feel it bubbling against my skin. The sudden anticipation sucks down deep in my liver. I’ve felt this feeling more than once. Other people call them butterflies, but I call them that horrible feeling that pisses me off. I think that feeling is the least romantic. Sweltering and batting around just to say the person who just confessed their love for you is worth being around. I don’t need some odd version of alcohol poisoning to know I care about somebody. This isn’t grade school anymore, I don’t need to rely on somebody shoving me in to the other person to make initial contact. I’m old enough to know what love is, and when it comes. I’ll know I love him when I start thinking butterflies are romantic.