Love and tears

So I don't believe in love. Don't really think I should be advocating it. Not in the he loves, she loves kind of vein. So when she reappears, un-erasable it is not love but something else. Still, I listen to love songs, read about it in books. Heartbreaking. I am moved. I look at art. I hug. I kiss. I feel the harsh fist of something in my chest and I know what the the romantics would say about this. Care plus sex. A heady mix of chemicals unbalancing me. I would call it love if I were so inclined. I would convince myself. It would be easy enough. It is the way I tear up. The hormonal wash. I am getting old and softening.