Who knew falling in love could hurt this much?
Why didn't anyone warn me, that it would feel like my heart is ever so slowly being torn from my chest, millimeter by millimeter, all while being crushed in the vice like grip of Fate.
Why did no one prepare me to fall in love with every artist I meet, with the tortured and the passionate?
What could I have known of love as an innocent child, free if the petty cruelties of life and apathy?
How can I resist falling in love with those who support my own feeble attempts at art, who reassure me that I am worthy it respect and continue to uplift my soul and spirit, and more importantly — should I?
How do I communicate my love do that I might get it reciprocated, that I can feel from others what I feel for them?
Alas, there are no answers in this empty apartment.