Why is it that everything I love either is blatantly nonrequitous or it dies? I don't understand why the things i choose to lean on are always destroyed by circumstance. You know, it's bad enough that I don't like who I am normally. But it is very hard for me to do this and my little refuge is important. Why is it when I need them the most they are ripped away from me?
I hope I never fucking love anything else as long as I live.