Years ago, I swore I’d never love again. When I finally gave in, my heart broke all over once more, and that was the final straw.
We all remember that first love: innocent, naive, carrying the false promise of eternity. But today, I know that the second love hurts even more. In that one, there is no longer any innocence—only a conscious faith and the wounded hope that, this time, things would be different. However, the ending was exactly the same: it left me shattered.
I haven't loved since then, and with every passing day, I feel my heart is slowly drying up.