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?