Yes, I am a fraud:
Covetous and passionate,
And yet, dismissive and bored.
I am like a child,
Who cries and pleads for new toys,
And so breaks the ones he has.
And so in my fits,
My discarded loves grow deep,
Even as I grow shallow.
How can I accept,
The love you tenderly give,
When I dropped Love long ago?
Discarded Recollections 
Love is quiet and sneaky. Can come from unknown places. I did like these words.
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Thank you kindly. Love has a habit of falling on your lap when you least need it, and an impossibly dream when you crave it. I suppose that’s what makes youthful love feel so surreal and dream-like.
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