Lovers turn into demons.
They show me that I don't deserve love, so I will never ask God for a soulmate.
I don't know the core, where it all springs from.
I don't know if it's the molestations, the fatherly absences, the lonely upbringing, or simply because of who I am as a person, but I now know that every morning, I wake up to the voice of Monroe.
I replay our last conversation in my mind like a broken record, and find a new lie, and new truth each time.
"You're not in love with me," he said. "I don't love you," he said. "In order to be with me, you would have to change everything that you are as a person," he declared.
I could be special. I could be genuine, handing you the heart adorning my sleeve, and show you every single day why you deserve a gift so near and dear to me. I could be wonderful, completely different from the others. I could stand out, intrigue you, understand you, love and accept you for everything that you are and are not. I could trust and believe in you, fight for you, love you even when you feel like you're being the bad guy. I could make you feel human, make you feel again when you swear you're hallow. I could show you desire, appreciation, and care before even touching you. My presence alone could fulfill you, and I'd be the one lover to willingly give you my all, all in an attempt to make you as happy as you made me.
But when everything is said and done, I'll be the one left alone feeling like a curse, rather than a blessing.
