Sad people write beautiful stories.

i want to cry and i want to love
but all my tears have been used up.
on another love
-Tom Odell-

it hurts.
you love, even when you know it won't work.
you try your hardest not to, but in the end, someone always steals your heart and breaks it.
And if people will not love you, you will make them hate you more than anything else.
because you would rather feel absolute rage, than heartbreak.

I have a passion that rages inside of me

but it does not know what to be passionate

about

I have the intentions to be inspired
and yet I somehow lack
the capacity to act on these dreams

I have the talent to be amazing

although a fear grows heavier every day

that I will amount the to the bare minimum of it all.

It's quite simple,
I love to love things,
that don't love me back.

It almost makes me sick
when I realize that
I had imagined you so many times
loving me
that when reality punched me in the face
with the brutally honest truth
that you couldn't care less about me
all the love I had given you
in my mind
felt pointless
and painful
and yet,
I've never stopped thinking about you.

I ran into a ghost today
And by ghost, I mean a person from my past
And by person from my past, I mean an old friend, who I really used to care about.
And by ran into I mean we passed each other in the hallway,
we looked up then looked away then looked back one more time, realizing at this point we couldn’t pretend we didn’t see each other.

He was so kind and he was so gentle
and I was so scared, I tried to run away
yet at the same time all I wanted in that moment was to stay and talk to him.  
We hardly said five words,
then he pretended to be meeting a friend
and I pretended I was late for class,
though in actuality my class didn’t start for forty-five more minutes.
I ran down the hall and sat in the corner alone, hating myself for not being able to ask one simple question.
“how are you?”
“how’s your family?”
“Are you happy?”
Cause all I ever wanted was for you to be happy.
I know it didn’t seem that way
But I was selfish, and you were young and I was young.
And then the anxiety came on and my chest started to hurt and the feeling reminded me of why I don’t make friends anymore.

Then the teacher showed up and asked me if I was okay.
And the pounding turned to aching,
that simmered into a dull pain.
I smiled and said yes.
He said that I wore my emotions on my face.
And I laughed and said thank you.

Then I went on with my day.
But the aching Is still there,
It will probably never leave.

I lose interest
I lack tenacity
I'm falling back
Into black and blue
Into "I'm not good enoughs"
and giving up without even trying

Summers gone,
  yellow no longer stains the sky
The smell of trees and hot heat
  will not fill my brain for eight more months
It's cold and I'm lonely.

The strangest thing happens
when I write about you.
People listen.
They notice.
even when I don't,

notice.

The strangest thing happens
when I think about you.
The words flow through me
in a simple and tangible way.