“ I don’t think I ever even loved you. I think I was just in love with the idea of not being loved back; I think I was just so addicted to the sadness, the feeling of loneliness. I guess when it’s the only feeling you’ve ever known, it’s easy to get addicted. You fall for the boy who smokes cigarettes, you kiss the boy who you know damn well will break you, you become friends with the blue-haired girl, who you know can’t stay. And when someone does love you, it’s such a foreign feeling; you’re not used to someone wanting to see how you are, you’re not used to someone wanting to hold you when you’re at your worse. Instead, you’re so used to not being good enough, and drowning yourself in unrequited love. And you’re so afraid of change. So you push him away… and when he doesn’t stay, when he moves on, you fall for him all over again. But darling, you don’t actually love him. You love the feeling of not being loved back; you love chain smoking when he’s kissed another girl, you love taking shots every time you hear his name. You love sad poems, you love your bleeding wrists. You love drowning in your 4 A.M. thoughts. You’re in love with the demons in your head, not the boys you bring into your bed.”
