Breaking thé just ......

"Let's be real," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. It's just a year until it's over; it's just a wish until it comes true. It's embarrassing and cringey until there's a standing ovation, and the whole room is clapping just for you. It's not a holiday until it's celebrated; you're not known until the copies are everywhere. Why are you caught up on the opinions of people who will never even meet you, in cities they can't afford to visit, in messages they'll never be brave enough to send? It's just breaking point until you realize that's the farthest you've ever had to bend. Once muscle is conditioned, it's not heartbreak—you're just not the one. It's just a silly little crush until you're _sobbing over someone's emotionally unavailable son_. It's just "when you're older" until you're too old; just when you have more experience, that's what you've always been told, until you've experienced it twice already, and your therapist has nothing left to say. They are just as baffled as you are about how you manage to keep the bad thoughts away. You finally deem the time isn't just passing; you second guess that there isn't enough patience for someone to deal with your God-given mess. Well, it's just a mess until it's art—_artists don't see messes, they see extra paint_. The yappers of conversation are just _poets without restraint_; we don't realize how much their words are worth... so they leave them in napkins to be thrown out. It's just a silly little crush until _they are who your next book is about_. _It saddens me that you don't see—YOU'VE NEVER BEEN A "JUST"—so why have you adjusted to be...!_