love is suicide

I've actually come to terms with it now, that I will never find someone. Or well, I do find someone, constantly, but they never find me. So, I'm just gonna give that shit up. Well sure, I do think "love" is the meaning of life, but hell. I can live my life without meaning. It's fine. Then I won't get hurt like that again, and when you've been hurt like this, so many times, the amount of love you receive just isn't worth it anyway.

(if you dare give me the speech about how I'll eventually find someone, and that I'll eventually be happy, you can go shove it, 'cause we both know that's the speech you give to people you don't see any hope for. Wait, I guess you can say it then.)

I'm going to throw my blades out - like Richard asked me to. I'm going to have a shower and wash away the blood, and I'm gonna pretend that everything is fine. That I don't need love, that I don't need anyone to hold me, or kiss me. I don't, honestly. I'll get cats, hundreds.

- I will be the crazy cat lady, - and for once, she'll actually be fucking mental.

I will be as amazing as I know I can be,

and I won't let anyone in.