My expectations are unrealistic, my feelings too easily hurt and my dislike of people too often verges on plain hatred. One date in and I’m already planning out futures together. Love makes me weak. And life has kicked me around enough where I can’t allow myself to be weak, to be taken advantage of. So perhaps I’m not loveable, in that way.

I have a handful of friends that love and mean the world to me. But that’s not enough. Art is fueled by love and I’m in the middle of the painful process of killing that love inside of me. And should my art suffer, it needs only to feed on the incessant pain within.