Inherited tears

Dad, who barely got to know me, always warned me not to cry over loves. Every time I heard him repeat his spiel, I couldn't help but think he was one of those poets who believe so much in love that they become skeptical of feeling it, you know? Because love is magic... But it hurts so much. And when Mom left, he didn't want to cry anymore. On the other hand, being a believer, I never took Dad's advice: And while my heart gets excited over a couple of obvious lies, the knot in my throat is eager to prove the old man right.