Love, According to Experts (Who Failed)

I

He swore that love was calm and wise,
a steady flame with measured sighs;
Then met her once at half past four
and walked straight into a glass door.
His theories fell like autumn leaves,
his logic packed its bags and leaves;
The heart, unlicensed, took control—
and charged full speed without a goal.

II

She said she’d never text too fast,
nor overthink what someone asked;
She read his “Hi” for forty minutes,
analyzed tone in subtle minutes.
Was that one dot too brief, too cold?
Was confidence too clear, too bold?
She drafted answers five times through—
then sent the first one. “Hi. How’re you?”

III

They promised they would both stay cool,
mature, composed, nobody’s fool;
No jealous scroll at 2 a.m.,
no stalking every post from them.
By Tuesday night they knew the names
of childhood pets and cousins’ games;
Research, they claimed, was harmless art—
just “gathering context,” not the heart.

IV

He tried to act mysterious,
strategically delirious;
Wait three hours, maybe four—
show he isn’t desperate or poor.
She replied in seventeen seconds flat,
then stared at screen in panic spat;
“Too fast,” she groaned, “too very keen”—
romance is math no one has seen.

V

They met for coffee, casual tone,
as if they’d each arrived alone;
He practiced smiles in bathroom glass,
she nearly tripped upon the grass.
They spoke of books and films and fate,
both checking phones at steady rate;
Pretending not to care too much—
while secretly combusting such.

VI

Love grows in ways absurd and strange,
it rearranges brain and range;
One minute sane, composed, aware—
next minute writing poetry in air.
He hates long walks, but now he strolls;
She mocks romance, yet writes in scrolls;
Identity bends out of shape—
Cupid’s most effective escape.

VII

They argued once on trivial ground—
which pizza topping should be crowned;
A debate of depth and noble tone
as if the fate of worlds were thrown.
Two hours later both agreed
that love survives such minor creed;
But still they guard that sacred fight—
as proof they both were somehow right.

VIII

And so they learned, through blush and doubt,
what all the legends talk about:
Love is foolish, brave, and odd,
a cosmic prank approved by God.
It breaks your rules, rewrites your plans,
makes poets out of sensible humans;
And though it makes the clever fall—
they’d gladly trip again, through all.