And these are the nights where I lay,
analyzing all the possibilities of chances,
for happiness, loneliness, days, months and years,
on something that seems like a waste.

What does it feel like to be a ghost?

It's that phantom presence you treat me with,
when in actuality I am standing next to you,
interacting, talking, and hugging,
but everything flies under the radar of appreciations,
to the time lapse of "I'm-good-for-nothing,"
or "I'm-never-going-to-be-good-enough,"
but the joke is on you my friend,
this riddle, joke, and puzzle is all on you,
you can't fool me once,
then try again to fool me twice.
No, no; you're the fool for all of your insecurities,
your lack of appreciation, your lack of caring,
and the general knowledge that you can throw it all away,
to the point where you become garbage,
to the point where I don't want to know you,
but it's that one thing I love about you that makes me stay:
the fact I am happy with myself,
because you make me happy with myself,
when all else fails, i know the face that makes me smile,
I know those hands I want to hold,
and I know those lips that I want to embrace.
The consistency of unbelievable happiness emits upon,
just because I saw you for five seconds out of a possible eighty-six thousand and four hundred seconds.
That's why I'm still here waiting for that one chance,
and you don't have to ask me why,
because you should know why,
but every time I tell you, you don't know why,
you don't know why I should even be doing this,
it's the lack of knowledge you have about it that makes you 'not quite sure,'
about the concept of 'us.'

Did you lose faith?

And for all you lovers out there who get hampered by this defect,
never give up on something that makes you happy,
because when you quit on happiness, you quit on yourself.
When you quit on yourself,
it takes away the pride you have swallowed for so long,
and the soul you lived for everyday to be yourself.
The falling empire of yourself takes on a nova gas of depression,
mixed with loneliness that stuns you in a paralysis feel,
and when your towers crumble, you break in every which way.
Starting the rebuilding process isn't the simple simplicity in life,
the rubble takes months to clear,
reconstruction may be clouded by the ignorant and the arrogant,
the loving and the troubled,
and the root of it all may yield and destroy you once again.
However, the new kingdom will be rebuilt,
the pure heart will rule it all once again,
and the shadows of outliers and lovers will come again,
and again, until the front lines of confidence is strong enough,
to shoot a bow and arrow of apathy to the intruding egocentrics.
Around your kingdom should be your moat of needless things,
the things you never wanted to be, the things you never wanted to get stuck in,
such as the greediness of others, the tension of jealousy,
and the word 'perfect,'
because you know there is no such thing in the land of yourself.