Love always turned its back on me. When I needed it, when I craved it. When, without it, it felt like I was going to die. Love turned its back on me when I was vulnerable. Love slapped me right across the face when, for once, I allowed myself to believe in it. It watched me fall apart. It slapped me so hard that I still feel the skin burning on that exact spot, many years later. It slapped me and yelled at me to grow up, to get my shit together. Because Love always wanted me composed, organised, available, open. Love always wanted me happy, smiling, capable. Love helped me build a paper caste and framed me as the capable architect. When the paper castle inevitably fell apart, Love blamed me. I became the capable destroyer of Love, of happiness, of joy, of relationships.














