Love. The word makes me sick. It's sickly sweet, it reminds me of dead roses and him, and those are things I would love to forget. I would also love to forget her. I mean; like with a passion to forget her. I liked them both, with a burning passion i could no longer ignore. I really did. But she was a hopeless self-destruction machine and he was the one they all loved, all except me, of course. For I do not believe in such a thing, if such a thing as this pure 'love' that makes everyone glow and smile existed maybe we would all be happy. Maybe I would not of hurt her and maybe he would not have hurt me.
But I'm jumping ahead. Maybe we should take it back to where it all began. When rainbows meant hope and i was foolish enough to believe that happily ever after was real, maybe it is and I'm just the villan, or maybe it's all a myth constructed by people who couldn't possibly know any better. When I was niave enough to believe that there was a someone for everyone and that the two I would take bullets for would take one for me, not be behind the trigger, or worse; pointing it at themselves. But again I'm jumping ahead.
Let me tell you a story about how my fairytale full of like with a passion turned into a nightmare from which we would never awake.
