I haven’t written anything
Not in awhile at least
And for a minute
I think it’s because
I’ve finally lost myself
My creative side at least.
But soon I realize
It’s simply because
I’m happy.
The things I write
Are twisted and depressing
Sometimes too dark
To even represent
My true self.
But they were decent
Some even good
And it makes me miss
Being sad.

What if our dreams come true?
You're always in mine.
All I really want is to lean my head on your shoulder,
While you tell me why the color of the sea makes you a little sad
I'd tell you I wish I knew but I'd just hold your hand a little tighter in fear of losing you
And you'll kiss my forehead and tell me it that it doesn't matter now

I looked out the window
while sitting in a taxi
and listening to all the songs that reminded me of you.
I saw city lights,
signs flashing,
and felt the sudden nostalgia of you.
In that moment, I realized you didn't need me,
care for me,
love me
the way that I did about you.
The taxi cab stopped, so I paid the driver and started walking.
As I wandered down the lonesome streets
I wrote your name on a paper airplane,
watched it fly in the wind,
and never looked back.