In the past, I didn't understand differently,
If I knew the meaning of those times,
Would it have been different? Perhaps.
I might have been less naive, perhaps more discerning.
Fake scenarios would have vanished, a habit disappeared,
I would have pondered them differently.

I would've thought,
I would've wondered,
I would've considered.

Should I give social media or self-help a chance?
Wait, wouldn't it be better if I read those books?
But maybe I'd still ignore the signs of losing interest,
My problem: refusing to accept known things,
Ignorance, my constant friend intercepting within the darkness.

Thoughts linger in the dark, contemplating,
Whether to rest or not, amidst rain or silence.
Fearful, lying in bed, afraid, contemplating my thoughts,
Afraid of missing something, afraid of nothingness,
I contemplate, hesitant to give in or let go,
To write or not, to abandon thoughts or linger,
Afraid of missing out, uncertain.

I've always been on the verge of becoming someone else,
Always waiting for that life I envisioned.
In my mind, always one step away.

I won't be a beautiful poem,
Never a remembered, melodic song,
Never a coherent, captivating novel.

I'll remain the unwritten thought,
The half-forgotten story,
The absent melody in my own book.


© camvickbone