I didn't cry watching The Notebook, 
but I cried on my 17th birthday, 
when the candles felt more like countdowns 
than celebrations. 
I didn't cry watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, 
but La La Land messed me up, 
not because they didn't end up together, 
but because sometimes, dreams win over love. 
I didn't cry watching Titanic, 
but I did when I found an old voicemail 
and realized I'd never hear that voice in real life again. 
I didn't cry watching Good Will Hunting, 
but Toy Story 3 hit too close, 
not because Andy left, 
but because I knew I would too. 
I laughed at Scream, didn't flinch at The Conjuring, 
but my hands shook reading an old text, 
like ghosts can haunt phones too. 
I tell myself I'm fine. 
That I don't feel things like I used to. 
That I've learned how to sit with the pain. 
But then I hear The Perks of Being a Wallflower, 
"we accept the love we think we deserve," 
and I wonder 
if I ever deserved any at all.