What is love and what do we become because of it? Honestly, I can’t tell you, because I really don’t know anymore. Is it that unique feeling which makes you speechless, that thing you can’t describe? Is it that place you give everything to be in? Is it what gives you hope and leaves you breathless when you finally get it? Or is it that evil creature that takes your soul, your feelings, then captures your mind and makes you different, turns you into a monster? No, I don’t know anymore.

And after all, what are all those relationships about? What’s the point in being with someone? I can’t answer myself, because I only see ugliness around me, ugliness in peoples’ souls. And that ugliness is a result from all those broken hearts and hopes and promises and dreams. It’s a result from all the pain inside us that change us in a way we can’t explain. We turn into despicable and pathetic critters only able to be feelingless and empty inside. It makes us only able to see the hideous side of people and unable to give and receive what we once dreamed of. We turn into little desolated islands which can’t take it no more and give up hoping and wanting and craving and dreaming, which give up everything that once mattered.

 So where’s it? Where’s that comfortable feeling of being under someone’s thumb? Where’s that significant part of ourselves we give to someone as beautiful as we are? Where are all those obsolete words and ways to show someone you really care about them and like them and love them, show them they’re the only thing you can think about while you’re alone or in a crowded room? I can’t figure out what’s the point anymore. I don’t know. And I can’t give an answer to this question. Maybe the point is that there is no fucking point. Love is for dreamers so that they have something to dream about in this inevitably deformed world. And shoot me and kill me, but I’m still naïve. Love is for dreamers and dreamer I am still.