Isn’t it ironic?

They rejoice at my loss. They thought it was right. It felt like a lost cause. At this age, in this sight. They say that now… I will see what I can be. I will feel what I deserve. But I say that now… I think I’m half empty, Though I have my happiness to preserve. And what does happiness truly mean, To someone who is in shock and unseen? What does even love mean, To someone who just lost what she hoped within? Love is indeed discouraging, As much as it is fluttering. Love is also self-sabotaging, As much as it is redeeming. I maybe now in a loss, In search of meaning this time. I hope to be my boss, Navigating my new found freedom in my prime.