Mystery

It has not been that many years,
Though they drop around our ears
Like a steady, dreary rain,
That I can't stop and ponder
And consider the feelings I had
When, as a teenager,
All filled with hormones and self-doubt
And wonder, that someone, you perhaps,
Might stop and turn and notice me
In a room full of other boys,
With their curls and their smiling eyes
And their growing manhood,
But to see me through the crowd
It was a miracle then
And a miracle now,
Just bigger and brighter and better,
When twenty four odd years have passed us by
And we still seek to touch each other
Like that first static zap,
Jolting our fingers,
And lifting our tender hearts.

A wonderful prestidigitation.