Every single lamppost on my street has burnt out. Except for one.
That’s where I like to spend my time, in that makeshift spotlight.
It’s like my life is a piece of performance art.
Very few people see the side of me I prefer.
It’s by design; it’s definitely a conscious decision.
It’s how I decide who’s worth keeping in my life.
Sometimes I feel like I’m alone under the streetlight.
And at other times I really wish someone was here with me.
Yet there are times still where I wish things were different.
There’s a chance that in a different place or time, this could have been it.
You could join me, and we could both be happy.
It’s the least I could do to offer my hand.
I don’t trust my own heart. I don’t trust my own brain.
And I don’t think anyone would say that I’m courageous.
But at least by writing I can immortalize these complex emotions.
As soon as the words meet the paper, it’s a burden lifted off my shoulders.
Every sentence is another confession; every line is an immediate regret.
I will never be what the world expects me to be.
But at least I can be what you deserve.
One by one, the lampposts on my street come back to life.
Just like that, my spotlight is no longer unique.
I’m okay with just being a face in the crowd, at least this once.
I want to take a risk and make mistakes with you.
I want to live like a reckless teenager and make memories.
Somehow life’s not that simple. I think you taught me that.