Am I not enough?
A question left ringing in my ear,
To ask such a question is to show myself unsure.
But to not ask it,
Is to not know.
But how does one simply answer that,
When one does not know what enough is?
Or where the point of it begins or ends.

Gold, silver, platinum,
Check off the little box
So you can
Find just the right thing,
That costs $50 or more.

I keep mentioning, as you keep moving closer in
On me, and my thoughts and my personal space,
"This isn't about me. It's not about me. I don't want to draw attention to myself."

And you say, over me,
"But look at this one!"

And you ogle over the shiny things
That I could give less of a **** about.
Because the real thing I'm excited for,
Is spending time with him.

I'm excited for being part of his life,
In this way,
In a way that kind of matters,
Because I want to be stand with him
And it makes me really happy,
And my heart all fluttery,
And my chest all warm
And I don't understand.
It's so corny.

I'm getting attached.
I knew I would.
But how could I not?
Maybe I always was.
Red strings of fate,
Well,
They're tricky little *******,
And will fool you for years.

So while you
Look at jewelry now for yourself on your phone,
I'll switch the ring you put in my cart
Out with one that I think suits the occasion
And him and I
Much better.

You'll think it's cute,
Whatever,
Blah blah blah
You won't get the sentimental value,
The fact that it will mean so much to me
If he smiles when he sees it.

But I guess that's the thing.
You had shiny things
And sparkly things
And green paper
For so long,
Much longer than I did.

I've learned to rather enjoy going without.
There isn't so much pressure.

And you say "It's not about our difference in tastes,"
Your tone implying that yours is still better,
"it's about looking classy and right for the occasion.
"It's not about your taste, it's about the occasion."

I start to see red,
And I go off for about six minutes,
A little longer than usual.
"How many times today have I said that this isn't about me?
"How many times today have I said that that's the reason I don't want to wear something like that?"

And I tried not to say it, but I did anyway.
"I'm not some type of ****. I don't use people. I refuse absolutely to give off that impression."

Because I know girls who do that,
And I know they wear things like that.
Extravagantly thin sparkly diamond strings lacing up their throats,
And rings the size of lollipops
Glittering their knuckles.
Manicured nails that could cut your face off,
Pedicured toes that could shank you in the stomach.
Hoops or chains glistening out of their punctured ears and tangling with long hair.
Purposefully too-tight too-short dresses to show too-much cleavage and sky-high heels that end in a point sharp enough to puncture your spinal column with ease.

I'm not supposed to look like some shiny barbie doll that's been weaponized.

If anything, if I got to choose, I'd want to look only vaguely threatening and positively ethereal and mostly gentle.

But then you go on and on and on
About manicures
And pedicures,
And I interrupt your rant on designs
For nails with
"Black."

"What?"

"Black or blue polish. Nothing else."

"You don't want to get fake nails--"

"Hell no."

"Extensio--"

"For my hair? **** that," Cue another sarcastic comment about weaponized barbie dolls.

This shouldn't be so stressful.
And I can feel myself crying,
And my breathing is a little shaky,
Because I don't think anyone understands
That I legitimately care about my Bluebird.
This isn't just about it being fun,
About time being fun with him,
About how easy talking to and being around him is.

It's about caring to the point of my chest hurting a little when I think something might be wrong.
It's about caring to that same point when he smiles, and being able to see it.

I know, I know.
Corny.

But still,
I've been so okay lately,
Yeah I've had a few bad days,
But he didn't run off when they happened,
And that means a lot.

Even writing this,
I'm tearing up a little.
I don't understand.
I know I shouldn't fight this feeling,
But I kind of think I might have to.
Just for a little while.

[Insert keyboard smash]
SDKLFJSADKLFJ
**** it, whatever.

Feelings are insane,
And they make me all choked up.

The question is asked again and again,
Where do we come from? Who are we?
All throughout life men and women great
And foolish have attempted to explain this,
"In a moment all will be explained,"
"If you pay more money you will be cleansed,"
"Not worshipping is the realm of the insane,"
"With these soft spoken incantations you will mend,"
So where do we come from? What is all this?
From rushing water, breath of air, no need for
Recognition, it's all miles away in some deserted
Forest, to be left for later generations to forget,
Let this be an answer, why are we here? I shall
Obtain eternal life if I just hold this vile
Closer to my heart, a work of vain art,
This isn't life, this is the illusion of life,
The answer nestled in a small cave,
The birth of a newborn bird, a ripple in a pond
From a rock that fell during an earthquake,
A vague reflection of a deer in it's surface gleam,
All of this and more, the darkness of night,
Cloaking terrors real or imagined, what is this?
Maybe one day we will know? This is how fools
Are born, clinging to this or that, a drop of water
From a vile, an answer from a simple written text
That proves it's all happened thus far. This is why
Fools are born of this, opportunists, blinded by dust,
The great way of those who gather to take advantage,
This is where the greatest numbers of fools gather.
Far away, the beautiful forest, I may not know what brought
This all to life, but I do know what is worth saving
And what only fools shall save for themselves...

I've always heard people say that
"Love's not like the movies."
I feel like I've come to learn they're not wrong.
But they're not completely right.
I've come to learn that love
can feel just like those movies.
You feel stupid in love,
can trip over your own two feet,
blabber,
blush,
go on cheesy dates.
You can use every pick up line in the world,
and you can want to show them the world-
they can become your world.
You can stick with them through thick and thin,
You can do everything in your power to make them happy.
But I feel like the movies are wrong at some point.
They start out strong, just like love.
They start out honest,
they start out happy.
But the movies end up happy,
and love doesn't always end up happy.
Falling in love isn't always just like the movies.
Sometimes, there comes a point in love where there's a disconnect.
If you're lucky, it can realign.
But falling out of love doesn't realign.
Falling out of love isn't like the movies.
They don't show you that in movies,
falling out of love can be more than the tear-soaked pillows.
It can be more than the empty bottle of *****,
the drunken texts,
the going out to distract yourself.
No,
falling out of love can be worse.
Falling out of love isn't always the abrupt "it's over."
Falling out of love can be the day you go to get coffee, just like always, but your footsteps don't match up the way they did a week ago.
It can be turning down the favorite songs you shared instead of turning them up, turning down the emotions instead of letting them out.
Waking up to the back of their head.
Falling asleep in bed before they get there.
Going to work sooner than usual, because you need to get gas.
The conversations die.
Falling out of love can be staring at the credits when the movie's over, because neither are sure if you should end it.
Maybe the silence isn't thick enough.
Let the credits roll.
Don't hold their hand.
Don't turn it down.
Don't make a joke.
Falling out of love can be just as rough when you know they are and you can't do anything.
Falling out of love can be letting them pack without having a conversation about it.
So when you packed your things we didn't have to speak.
I remember the moment we kind of just looked at each other and knew.
You had this pitiful look in your eyes like you wanted to apologize, but there was nothing to say, you can't be sorry for feeling.
You can't be sorry for not feeling, I always told you not to apologize for what you couldn't control.
We didn't talk about where you were going.
We didn't talk about what was happening to our plans.
We didn't talk about the ring I saw you looking at one day when I glanced over your shoulder (I had that feeling you were being sneaky.)
We didn't talk.
So I sat in the car of the parking lot where you took me on our first date,
and stared at the spot in the grass where you laid down and stared at the clouds.
I didn't even get out of the car, and I reached for the handle time
after time
after time
after time
but never opened the door because you knew you wouldn't be there.
We didn't talk.
Falling out of love is how many nights I've spent sleeping on the couch because the bed smells like you.
Falling out of love is waking up for the third day in a row this week, forgetting you were gone.
Falling out of love isn't like the movies.
We didn't talk.
The credits have been over for a while now.
I turned the TV off and have been staring at the screen.
I wonder what song would play for the end credits of our movie.
Because I know it's over, I'm just waiting for them to roll.

All the answers
Lie within
All the answers
start within
Just listen
Always listen
Simply listen