repetition.

saying that there is love out there for everyone, is like saying that every star is a part of a constellation
when the truth is that some of us were just born, ignited, without close proximity to anyone who could see us shining.
and don’t you dare tell me that every cloud has a silver lining, because I’ve looked at the sun until it hurt my eyes, and blinded me for days,
and yet still, I could cry, and it didn’t matter that there wasn’t any rain.
don’t you tell me that things get better with time because I’ve counted the sand in my hourglass,
time after time, 30 minute intervals turned to days and turned to weeks and months,
just turning it over and over to see how much it took.
but when I sat it back on the shelf and resumed my place in line,
turned out that nothing was different and the hurts were still mine.