I quit everything I'm not the best at and I think that's why I quit loving. I turned it into this twisted idea of possessive obsessing instead of the sweet incense of passion burning. But with eyes as cold as mine, I always extinguished the flames that worked hard to singe everything. And I guess that when you left, you were like the sun that grew apathetic toward trying so I was left with my world collapsed and it died looking for comfort in knowing. I grew weary of misunderstanding why no one ever loved me so I collected my walls and fists like albums and started punching. The bruises were blue and discolored as if they paralleled with my soul on a pH scale from love to **** because people love to **** and people **** what they love (I guess that's why I still haven't killed myself). And my soul was discontented with being compared so it faded black with a set of sedatives to make it numb. I got addicted, and they made me realize how wrong I was. They made me see you more clearly. I didn't believe in love because I didn't understand it or how it worked or how it had anything to do with those two little doves. I had never seen any proof and I had never seen the good. It was all natural with you, and my desire was yours too, and by the time I almost felt my heart beating again, my hope tried running through my veins but they were too withered and I was forced to go numb again.