You can't even begin to rival this

this is a newspaper tragedy. everything is spelt out for the world to see, nothing is left to the imagination. and that hurts. all anyone will ever remember of this debaccle are the bad times, the tears and the hurt feelings. no one will ever look back and think of the smiles and the hugs and the holds and the whispers and the winks and all of that. no one except you and me. we hold onto them tight, it's our lifesaver, we know they happened, hell, everyone knows the good times happened, but no one remembers them. they're not interesting. where's the drama in being happy? the poetry you write about happiness can't even begin to rival the poetry you write about sadness and heartbreak.