Aromantic

A tight, heavy thing becomes known inside.
Who knows if it's new or only just discovered?
I wonder if I'm just trying to hide
who I am behind a facade, covered
so well I'm not aware I'm doing it.
Though there's not exactly a way to tell,
unless you count this painful deficit,
that what I want belongs to those that fell.
Thoughts of touch, of fairy tale feelings of
found warmth and butterflies, excite me so.
That blushing, giddy, intense force of love
my heart shall yearn for, but will never know.
Hopefully I'll lose this pain so frantic
and accept who I am: aromantic.