Some Happiness Was Never Mine

This is a love poem, and a lament.

are saturated with regret. Regret makes beauty a luxury, and makes everyone who longs for something beautiful sink into sorrow.

As for love, to those who have never had it, perhaps it is merely a diversion in life; but to those who once possessed it, it feels more like a curse.

All the beauty we experienced in the past—even if it was only one-sided—ferments with time after its loss, becoming an illness of the heart.

Many love stories come to nothing. Mine did too, before I even found the courage to say it aloud.

Some people say parallel universes exist, and that we are merely one of countless timelines. Sometimes I would rather believe in that hazy, unfounded idea. Perhaps in some timeline, we really do get to have a love of our own?

Of course, here and now, this happiness is not mine. But I do not regret it; there is nothing to regret. Time has dried out those sentiments, as if that were heaven’s painstaking arrangement.

May you be happy too.