You make me never want to fall in love again. Because every time it ends badly. And it’s always because of something I did. Or didn’t do. You make me feel like an asshole, all the time. I don’t even have to mean anything by the things I do. I don’t have to mean anything by the things I say. No matter what, it always comes out wrong with you.
And I’m tired of feeling worse and worse about myself because of you. It’s okay that you don’t love me. It really is. But false hope is worse than no hope whatsoever. You’re not the first one to do this to me. To make me feel that warm glimmer of hope. But I hope you’re the last. I hope that I’m going to be stronger.
The reality is that there is no one for me. The few people who really, genuinely understand me can’t do a thing to help me. Their hands are tied. Or clasped gently by another. I’m going to be alone because I’m not enough, or I’m too much. It’s always something. I want it to be nothing. If there is no one in the world who appreciates and loves me for who I am, I want nothing. I’d rather be alone than lie. I’d rather die young than suffer until I’m old.
Because you make me never want to fall in love again.