[Epistemic status: attempted poetry written in pain. It reflected how I felt in the moment.]
I see the dreaded verdict hiding behind cheerful words, as I scramble to hide away at a family dinner.
I’m sorry, that’s normal, there will be another person, all the words of comfort ring so empty.
I’ve been told dating should be easy — the odds are in my favour, I’ve heard that so many times.
A rude awakening, that I need to learn to stomach rejections, to keep my hopes despite one heartbreak after another.
Would I be okay with growing old without ever finding someone? My thoughts flirt with the idea of death, just to stop the pain.
I cut my thoughts short; Someone might be looking for me too. I want that person to eventually find me.