I don’t love you. You don’t love me. Sometimes I barely like you. Then come the moments I have waves of panic for you. I have these immense pangs of doubts. Doubts of intent, doubt of interest, doubt of communication. Moments i have no idea how to handle. I could end it all with you so easly. It’s the fact that… It gives you such a grand opportunity to forget me. They think I’m crazy for liking you. But who are they? Similarly passion deprived teens willing to pounce at the first chance they get to make me as lonely as them when little do they know I’m the loneliest of them all. It takes being lonely to see lonely. It’s become so clear that the intent of others is never to help. Some seek aid to jealousy, yet some seek aid to themselves. Love and loneliness aren’t similar. They aren’t comparable”, they’re the exact same thing.


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