This May Be Depressing, But I Am Depressed

A poem, thingy, I don’t know. Poems don’t have to rhyme right? 

Words

Words.  Words have always been my friend.  They are the one thing that has been there for me through it all.  When all else fails I can scribble down a mess of words that would be nonsense to another.  That nonsense could be my best friend, however.  I always need a best friend.

Friends.  I’ve always had a lot of friends.  My whole life I’ve pretty much kept up with a variety of friends.  Some were really good and tight.  Others were distant.  Still other were just downright destructive.  Regardless, I’ve alway had a lot of friends.  I’ve come to realize that my friend group has gotten smaller.  I feel less significant.  I’m beginning to think some friend groups wouldn’t even notice if I was gone.

Gone.  I’m not gone.  I often wish I were.  I hold on though.  There are some who genuinely love me.  I remain for them.  I remain for me also.  I would regret being gone.  There is always a struggle.

Struggle.  I struggle to remain happy.  It’s a draining thing.  I want to be happy though, so I’ll fake it till I make it.  Happiness, now that is something I would love.

Love. I’ve never been in love.  I’ve claimed love, but it wasn’t there.  I want to fall in love.  I love people.  They are worth so much to me.  I put other lives above my own.  I love them more than I can express in words.

Words.  My one and only friend. 

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