hopelessly hopeful

are all of us drawn
to heartbreaking
stories? do we all love
to empathize
with others’ pains
struggles, anxieties?

stories of loss
injustice and death
strangely satisfy me
black comfort
food for my soul

tortured? no, haunted?
maybe, clinical?
if you’d like, but
i don’t really know
for sure so i wonder

if others feel soothed
and addicted to
feeling lost
think of it as love
this shared disappointment
and sorrow

a hopelessly hopeful
agreement to hold onto
each other pounded
and pummeled day in
day out laugh-crying
while we lose again

we swing through
tragedy and comedy
back and forth
distracting ourselves
in the play about
the location of the trap door

and knowing that
the curtain will fall
we act away clamoring
to be the hero
smell the roses unsent
take our silent bow

so if we’re lucky enough
to make it to the fifth act
do we celebrate this
losing looking back
and will anyone care to read
the script of another life
merely loved to its end?

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