I'm so conflicted and torn about this concept of love.
I beg that this jaded aura is not a lifelong curse.
It's a panicky, drowning feeling, that I allow to consume my hourly choices. I know that it is relentlessly unending, and I fear that it is here to stay.
Unbearable. Obsessive. Mess.
The startling realization that the picture I had painted for my life, really was just that... a picture.
It was never real.
It was just a beautiful illusion that I gazed upon everyday, and then forcefully imposed on the people around me in order to validate its existence.
Oh the fate that I have so desperately bestowed upon myself...
I hope and pray that I have repaid my karmic dues, for if the cycle were to continue, I fear that I may never have the ability to paint the perfect picture again.
I question my judgment, I question my fate.