A Wishful Thinker

By Rhea Mathuria

Years, lovers, glasses of wine left uncounted.

Lovers remain finite.

You can always love again,

You could always feel worse,

You could also lose a lot more than you did before.

I've always considered my feisty adrenaline rush, a real emotion.

Fun fact, it isn't.

A fine love, a greater loss.

A sour grape, a finer wine.

Love comes in different ways, yet i wonder,

If I could love the same person in numerous ways...

You might think you've got nothing to lose but there's always another slice of your being to give away.

I feel calmer but I don't know what my tomorrow's going to feel like.

I wish I existed on a plane where i felt wanted and not just pretty to every eye that takes a glance at me.

I wish I lived for me.

By Rhea Mathuria