Was I condemned to a life of heartbreak? Why? What had I ever done to have all the people I loved ripped from me? Or teased before me as I tried desperately to grab ahold of them, like a stupid donkey trying to chase its carrot, like a masochistic moth drawn to its flame, only to be burned when it came to close.
This was my punishment. My punishment for my tarnished soul. My personal hell. I wanted to desperately break out of this endless loop, wishing hopelessly that I this pain would go.
I would trade my soul to be loved in the way others take for granted. Just once. I would give anything just for a glimpse.
Suddenly, my pain and misery turns to anger. I want to rip my stupid heart out of my chest. It got me into this mess in the first place. A quiet sort of calm spreads through me as I consider this new thought. I get up off my bed and walk to the kitchen, slide open the drawer full of knives. A particularly long and sharp one catches my eye.
Isn't it ironic that the reason I break down is because I feel unloved, and that when I break down the people that I love tend to leave me stranded?
