I just... ruin everything I touch lately. Everyone I come into contact to-- Well, no, that's not quite right...
It's the things I /care/ about that get messed up. That's the kicker. Whenever I finally find something that really sets off that spark inside me that finally inspires me and gets me going, gives me hope about life and a future... It dies. As a result of my complete cheese block of a head.
I broke up with someone for the fourth and I have decided to be the final time. I've hurt these persons far more than I thought I did, and I didn't have the foresight to stop my idiocy. My dumb feelings blinded me, wanting to share a love that was stretching halfway around the world. A love that ended up falling apart because I was a coward. And now... people are dying. Because of me.
I might never believe in love again. At least, not for myself. A guy like me could never love. Some lonely guy like me, I'm damaged. A toy that was broken before it was even played with. Defective. If I try to love someone, it's going to be with a completely skewed view of it, and it'll be the same nightmare all over again. Pain like this makes masochism seem faint. This is hurting myself because I hate it.
I'm sure I'll probably end up saying something completely different later, something dumb like, "I've found love again and everything makes a lot more sense now," but that'll be a lie. Too many roses in the tint of my glasses.
Love is for people who deserve it. And I've got a long way to go.