My mind basks in the melancholies
Cluttered with poems scribbling furiously on the blankness
Muddled with ballads that say nothing
But boy, does it sure sound like they’re screaming the thoughts clawing at my mind

I languish for moments bygone
Craving a reality that perhaps, perchance, just maybe

Wasn’t so real after all

But the memories of my own reality are more vivid than ever

Bowls of Kraft Mac N’ Cheese shared with plastic spoons

Nights spent encapsulated in conversation

You hang up first
No, you
Seriously, I mean it, you hang up

I wish that I had felt that way
I wish that I had felt a heartache so passionate that it tugged at my chest and drowned me into my own sorrow
I wish that I had felt something else, anything other than the way I truly felt
Disappointed

I don’t really glance out the car window languidly, thinking of a time that once was

I don't really sputter profound aphorisms about how I’ve grown

The clouds that once shrouded my thoughts have since faded

The truth has already delivered its harsh blow
Not gently, not unexpectedly

I can’t, no, I won’t, deny the veracity that heartbreak is a lot whole lot more appealing than disappointment

Longing is a lot more impassioned than loneliness
Melancholic sighs are a lot more dramatic than fond recollections
Hesitation is a lot more romantic than diving headfirst into an abyss of novelty

What if I don’t want to be hesitant?
What if I’m sad that it’s over but happy that it happened?
What if I’m not clinging onto my stability by a single thread like I’m supposed to be

Like I was taught to be

I’m the one with the paintbrush and the blank canvas in front me
I’m the one who decides whether I will play the role of the triumphant hero or the glum girl-next- door
Not you, not her, not him, not them
Just me