Me, thinking about my YouTube history: Oh yeah, totally. *sweats nervously*

I wrote a post on Tumblr about how I feel,

About the things around me that affect my mind.

The text of which was simple, meaningless, but real.

Hastily scrawled emotions, left for you to find.

I wrote that post on Facebook, hoping you would see;

The same text that revealed my cracks, my choice, my tears.

It wasn’t meant to spite, I meant to set you free.

My intentions fell beside, as I voiced my fears.

I wrote a poem about us, about me and you;

It was full of both our spirits, smiles, words and hearts.

But I burned it. Burned it, and watched as ashes flew.

I wrote again, and again, all these stops and starts,

Filled my pages up, with this bloody pen.

You start, but there's not a starting point, you just wake up one day and yesterday is no longer the tomorrow it once was. Everything you dreamed of is done and gone, you thought that it would last forever but nothing could last that long, and you know that. How silly to think otherwise, but you hoped it would last another moment, another day, another week, another minute.

You still hear the traffic that rolled by on that night as you sat eagerly waiting. You still smell the aroma that wafted, from gently falling locks of hair, which you neglected to reach out and caress. You still see that smile of awestruck disbelief, that a bygone lover wore, the first time that you met. You still feel those arms wrap themselves, around your torso tightly, but oh! so tenderly, as if they knew how lonely they would be, for so many nights thereafter.

So you move on. You accept that all this was in the past, and try to make something new. For as they say, every ending is the foundation of a new beginning. Your memories hang though, like an oil portrait on the wall, and though you make no effort to look upon it, you catch yourself noticing the little details you never did before.

Before you know it, yesterday tastes like tomorrow. You find yourself in an endless loop, uncertain if this is the beginning or the end. You well up in ecstatic glee at the thought, of everything that will come to crush you, and leave you weeping in your bed, alone.

I can't say for certain, for I have yet to see it through, but I suspect that this is the course of life. We hope, we take, we give, we receive, we cherish, we lose, we cry, we grieve. Ultimately, I suspect we simply die, and it's irrelevant, all of this. So wouldn't it make more sense, to seize every opportunity with vigor? And mourn only the chances we didn't take?