there are times like these where the paper stares back
as blank as I stare at it
there are times when my mind stops running and the fog clears out - the pain
has diminished, melted away in the cracks of recent lovers
covering them in a monochromatic film
it dulls the pain

the hum of the vent is whispering sweet nothings in my ear and
i've never noticed how grounding the table is under my elbows
the air tastes of musty filing cabinets but that's okay
because 1,000 years ago it was just a barren field
under my feet

my nose is running slightly and
there's a heaviness in my eyes that I can't explain
but I never knew being happy would mean wrapping up
the memories and burying them
under the desire to be loved

I think I'd rather be sad and introspective than happy and numb
it may be lonesome, but at least I am able to
differentiate between who really cares
and who's only here to say they've climbed the tallest mountain