The physical symptoms are unmistakable. The tightening of the chest. The quickness of breath. The mental longing that doesn’t go away, that doesn’t falter or get distracted. This is what love is at the very surface, but man is it hard to control. It’s as if everything else in the universe suddenly took a plunge in stock value and the only thing worth investing any amount of time in was that person. I don’t know who it might be for you. For me, it’s a girl. For me, it’s someone I’d like to spend the rest of my days with, the rest of time with if possible. It is someone I would die for, and more importantly, someone I would live for.
Sue me. Martyr me for the cheesiness I’m spewing. That doesn’t matter. Literally nothing else does. It means something, it means I’m human. Above the hopeless expanse of responsibilities and tasks exists still a space in my soul for someone else. Well, to lose that is to be human, too, I guess.

Maybe I love too easily. Maybe that’s why I have felt the sorrow of “so close and yet so far” one too many times. Every time, I tell myself it will be the last time. And every time, I still break to pieces. Within this shell hides a sensitive hermit crab, dead without shelter. Unrequited love is the pair of satanic tweezers that unleashes the hell of nakedness. I hate it. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
I’ll be alright. I’ll live another day, fight another fight. It’s. Just. So. Hard. It’s like the worst disappointment in the world has the behavioral traits of a moth. Why do I fall so easily each and every single time? Am I a fool? Is fool just another name for a hopeless romantic?

People are always curious about why I’m a cynic. There is never a reason to be; a cynic doubts without reservation. Though in some sense a follower of pragmatism, one sees so little. There is no beauty in the world, because all beauty is a construct of perception. I’ve been cynical for long enough (I hope) that I can speak for my version.
It’s simple.
Step 1) Take a critic.
Step 2) Define them: someone who prioritizes the flaws above any other characteristics in a subject matter.
Step 3) Put them through hours of mental torture and sadness.
Step 4) Shoot them in the foot for no apparent reason.
Congratulations, you have successfully evolved a critic into a cynic.
To all the people who have been a victim of my cynicism, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to impress my own misfortunes upon you, I just got rejected. I hope you understand.