Crying from leaving, wanting it to last forever, but would I eventually get bored? Return to a life of failure and time wasting. Worried about missed opportunities, but maybe another time. Good times always end in stress, but there were still good times. I will cherish these memories forever and I'm glad it all happened. We inherently live in melancholy and maybe I accept that, maybe that's what makes it all interesting. That I have to be miserable even in joy to feel whole, to inspire artistic creation, needing to live in these sad stories, can't accept pure escapism. Needing escapism to be undercut with reality as my escapism.