Middle-Aging
I miss having crushes on the soulmate of what I projected myself to be, the kind of strange mismatched mingling that could only happen in my head, a typhoon of passion-fruit knocking out all of the power of logic— all seasoning, no reasoning. First in high school when we were all little horn dogs, and then in college when we took the socio-path less traveled. Self-conscious, but not self-aware, lusting after love and living to like others, now I get my kicks watching Question Time in the Australian Parliament and looking back at my car, I’m not so much middle-aged as run up on the median, my emotions are no longer in motion, and my passions have long passed me by.










