April, 2013

It’s embarrassing to me the way that I pour everything into love. It is the beginning and the end for me, and each thing in between. It’s the only thing I have let consume me entirely. I let it consume me unconditionally. Love fills up my notebooks. It’s all the rage, the only thing I can ever seem to write about. It is a perfect investment. It is a perfect sacrifice. And yet there is so much dark in me and I’m not sure that I believe in love at all. Everything can be explained by self interest, and I can never truly trust myself, and I will never truly trust anyone else.

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