I was seventeen when I lost my virginity.

I was drunk, and hopeless, and empty inside.

My best friend had died, and nothing took that agony away.

I thought if I wasn't alone,

I wouldn't be lonely.

Big mistake. 

It was fast, and brutal,

Nothing like the stories I'd read about passion or love.

It worked out okay though,

Because it taught me a lesson.

You don't need someone else to be complete.

You are in yourself, a perfect circle.

And so when people ask, I tell them

That the first time doesn't matter.

The love of your life is an overrated concept anyway.

Love thyself.

I am often lost within

The mists of melancholy.

Strange that their sadness 

Tugs at me as much as anything does.

Strange that it feels more like home

Than almost anything else.