it’s 3:09am on thursday
another romcom novel
lies
in my
lap

racing through it as i read
the same kinds of stories
yes, i know the ending, because

i need the
happy
ever
all-the-things

i guess i am no better
since i am a sucker for all the sap

i zip past the plotted out pain
skim through the lines
and find the ink-to-page artifice of love

it’s not real, yes, but
fills an ache-
(though never truly really fills)

of what you left behind
and how you’ve ruined me
at best

the dopamine
or cathartic thrill
dies down by the very last

but i always pick
back up these books
knowing my HEA is coming

   just
       around
         the
    bend

do i still believe it’s coming?

is happily really
meant for
me?

or is it just for the select few?

i revived this space
and came back
really just to say-

i heard you kissed
another girl
the night before
your wedding day