I can't seem to figure out if it is love itself that I fear, or if it is the possibility of never being loved back that scares me.
There are billions and billions of people on this Earth, and yet I haven't felt a single spark with anyone of the two thousand people that surround me.
I've come very, very, very close, but the match was just too far from the wick.
The irony of it all is that I don't even know if I long for love anymore.
I've craved it and held onto it for so long, but after a while the taste was familiar, bland, and sometimes even a little bitter.
People don't fall in love anymore.
Some may kiss a smitten crush, others may hold "their one" so tightly, and some jump in the sheets with a new endeavor everynight.
But this isn't love.
Love isn't possible nor does it exist.
It was simply glorified with the glitter pens of old english literature, and fed to our souls to give us a reason to stay.
But it doesn't exist,
So why keep lying to ourselves?
As much as I'd like to blame it on what he said, or what he did I cant.
Because he did not make love extinct, dissolve, and blow away in ashes from the palm of my hand.
I burned it all because of a broken heart, and now look where it is.
And I can't get it back,
so I'll just have to live