When I stopped trying to look happy and started trying to be happy, you stopped trying to look happy and stopped trying. I kept everyone in the dark while you shared the darkness; dampening the spirits around you. I slowly started living. You slowly started dying.
Truth is; I miss you.
I’ve heard of a poet who wrote the most amazing poetry: a truly hopeless romantic. She had her hopes set too high and died alone. I’m scared that I might share her fate one day and with my last breaths die in solitary. Its not that I’m vain and think I deserve much too much, but that’s just it. I’m asking for too much. He needs to be intelligent and kind. He needs a sense of humor as corny and crude as mine. He needs to have the most brilliant eyes, it doesn’t matter the color just that they take my breath away even when all other physical traits fade with time. Every time I look in them my thoughts would become incoherent. He must be a man of religious beliefs and high morals and respect me. Lastly he must be a silly fool in love with me as much as I love him. I’m not asking for an Edward Cullen although that’d be amazing but I do have ridiculously high hopes.
I’m afraid that I won’t find him or be able to settle. Frankly, I would rather die alone then settle. What can I say; I’m a reckless teenager with her hopes set too high.
Wish me luck,
– Maddie Mundane