Write a poem about sadness.

It's been 225 days, 
and the same amount 
of lonely nights. 

I fantasize about you,

while I ride him. 
flirt with her. 
send a teasing text to a stranger. 

I'm not proud, but I'm 
weirdly grateful for this
broken heart of mine. 

This new bleak world I now see
ironically gives me hope. 
There's a certain strength built
only by suffering. 
It affords me a distance 
putting the control of, well, everything
back in the palms of my hands. 

It's been 225 days, 
I fantasize about you, 
and this new bleak world I now see 
might have just been reality all along.