This has happened before.
And it will happen again.

This stage.
My most and least favorite stage
where I sit and think of you all day.

It's exciting.
And ever so self-destructive.
It's where I'm the most vulnerable,
and the most motivated.

The thought of seeing you
propels me through the day.
But I'm left disappointed
when you won't look my way.

It's like a self-proclaimed waiting room
inside my fantasizing head.
It's where I wait to see if you'll fix me.
I've been diagnosed with loneliness.

Is this fair? No.
But I do this to myself.
At least I don't focus
on possessions or wealth.

It's the cycle that I spoke of.
In that other poem.
Where I daydream of a boy
yet I barely know him.

When things don't work out
I am destroyed and relieved
I will never have him
And the cycle repeats.



This has happened before.
And it will happen again.
Where I sit in the waiting room
inside my head.