I can't stop thinking about him Every action sparks a cascade of speculation and theories I assume that humans are books with the symbolism of Victor Hugo I can't grasp the idea that it is what it is In my head there's a reason behind everything, and a secret motive, despite my own actions not reflecting this I've been corrupted into a cynical mess of hatred Truly convinced that everything he does is to express power or to hurt me The idea that he could ever care about me is entirely unfathomable to me And although it is ostensibly incorrect, I'm so afraid of humiliation and heartbreak that I can't bear to risk it I fear that I hurt him with my apparent antipathy, but for him to become aware of the extent to which I care would be the quietus to the condemnation of my heart.
