I know how you feel when you’re alone, lying on your bed, looking at your phone as if it’s meant to bring you peace from all the demons tugging at your head. You ask yourself; who in the hell will love me? And you should always remember no one will, unless you love yourself.
I can never feel the satisfaction.
The kind that people dream about.
Where two fall and love and swallow their pride.
I don’t want it.
I don’t need it.
Maybe this is just the worst side of me talking.
Getting too close.
Getting far too close.
The worst self inflected pain.
For self doubt?
For their doubt?
Going through this with high expectations of how it should be?
Not for me.
Again, or so that’s what I believe.
Believing is self glorified hope.
Hope of what you really want becoming a reality.
A reality that will never be.