I talked to you on the phone,
You asked for my problems,
And I told them to you,

Spilled out all the things wrong with me,
All the things right with me.

You listened.
Said nothing for a while.
And I asked for your problems.

You told me one,
The one issue that you had,
Something that didn't even have to do with you,
One thing so simple and strung together.

And in that moment,
I realized how messed up I was,
How I was a defect.

And I wished,
Silently that night,
That I had your simple life.

I also wondered,
In that cruel head of mine,
If this meant that when harsh reality catches up to you,
Your life will turn sour.

Because how else would it be fair?

Why would pain and suffering,
That I didn't deserve,
Only affect me?