Like-able vs. Love-able

In a previous post, I whined about my inability to inspire passion, devotion, or adoration in the men that briefly flit through my dating life. On any given day, my lackluster capabilities in this department burble quietly through the small back-waters of my mind barely perceptible amongst the welter of other insecurities and concerns. However, occassionally circumstances and insensitivity connive to turn my usually quiet spring into a raoring, leaping Niagra that will not be denied. Rarely am I blind-sided by it, and its tumult subsides with amazing alacrity; but the poignany, the piquancy grows stronger with each repetition as I grow older, resolving and embracing my self-awareness, and the hands of my romance clock speed through their circuit with ever increasing insistency.