why do we tend to destroy things that are the closest and dearest to us
to slowly but surely pick the flakes off the wounds, just when they're healing
only to expose them and let them hurt again.
why do we find thrill in others when we once convinced ourselves that
you were the one worth crying for, dying for.
it's sickening because you don't want to lose someone,
but the feeling of being loved by someone else reaches you deeper inside your being.
it penetrates your soul and rejuvenates you.
isn't that a good thing too?
does it still make it a bad thing?
to err is human, which basically means, to fuck up is human. i guess we're all one big happy fucked up bunch aren't we all.
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