Though I can find and buy the perfect glass to fit my fingers while I relish in the past regrets that linger in a shape that's vague enough to haunt me for the rest of my days,
I still can't help but wonder if all of it was just a vain attempt at trying to live a life that's been prescribed.
I mean, in the commercially acceptable sense.
I mean, in the romantically cinematic glimpse of what romance is supposed to be.

You know, heavy breathing and sepia tones.

What is it about hearing people having *** in an adjacent room that makes me feel at the same time both incredibly alive and also incredibly alone?