It's a lie when they say, love doesn't have to hurt. It always does. It always will.

Even when you alienate yourself from that tedious task of caring, your blood will bind you to the burden of concern, and you will find yourself, one cold evening, asking yourself, what the fuck am I doing here, trapped in this humanity, this weakness created of my own conscience?

And all your conviction in living, and loving, in tasting this life so grotesquely extraordinary, that gets violently shaken.

You know what... it's exhausting. And I am beginning, once more, to contemplate leaving. Running, running, running, and disappearing from this little niche I have no business residing in.

This mind was your aberration.