I hate how much I miss you

my mistakes play on repeat in my head,
but there is no such thing as enlightenment;
we just figure out who we are
and either change it or accept it. 

incremental midlife crises are my saddest factory,
and I make art within but lately they have been sacks of shit,
because I feel myself slowly not caring about certain things anymore,
things I used to care a great deal about, and that scares me.

love is death-defying, but I have nothing left,
yet maybe it will all make sense one day
remembered as a nostalgic romantic comedy 
instead of a poetic tragedy.