i was once told that i was never going to be good enough for love. that i spend too much of my time tending to the needs for people whom i loved, and i will never have that in return. Always planting forests for people who only burn them down. That i am type of girl that has only ever known ashamed love. A love that is always hidden behind closed bedroom doors and smothered under soft cotton sheets. The kind of love that is not love, never love, but lust. the word itself has been slipped through lips glossed with poison, but has only left me weak and ill.