I wake up to the sound of my own laughter,

the kind that spills from my mouth like a clumsy child,

arms flailing in the air,

as if trying to catch the dreams I once held—

each one a balloon slipping through my fingers.

I remember the way you looked at me,

eyes wide with unspoken words,

the possibilities hanging heavy like ripe fruit,

and how we both knew

they would fall before we could taste them.

To stop thinking—a mantra I whisper to the mirror,

where my reflection grins back, oafish and earnest,

as if to say: “What if?” is just a game we play,

a jester’s cap on the head of our ambitions.

I gather my rejections like old postcards,

each one a snapshot of what could have been—

the love letters never sent,

the stories untold,

the laughter that echoes in empty rooms.

I take them out, one by one,

and press them against my heart,

feeling their weight, their warmth—

remnants of a life I almost lived.

But today, I choose to be foolishly charming.

I dance with the ghosts of those lost chances,

twirling in circles until they dissolve into dust,

until the air is filled with the scent of something new—

the promise of tomorrow’s sun.

Here’s to the oafish charm of rejection—

to the way it teaches us to stumble forward,

to laugh at our own missteps,

to embrace the absurdity of wanting what we cannot have.

So I step outside into the world,

arms wide open like a child ready for a hug—

and let the breeze carry away my regrets,

like dandelion seeds on a summer's day.

And as I walk away from what was never meant to be,

I find myself humming a tune only I can hear—

a melody woven from threads of hope and humor,

reminding me that even in loss, there is joy.