Bittersweet Symphony

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The inner cogs spinning in my mind have increased in speed. Instead of thinking about how to care more efficiently, I’m thinking about the steps on the stairs. I don’t belong here, and need to climb them.

I’ve been left more charred and scarred than I was to begin with. However, I know now that the mechanism in my chest isn’t a hunk of junk. Its workings are like sprinkles on an icecream cone. I can have a regular cone, but I can love one with sprinkles.

Doesn’t it bother you though, that sometimes you have to play games with the people you love? Even though you want to jump into their arms at every second of the day, you aren’t allowed to? You aren’t allowed to make that obvious because then, the other person won’t feel like they’ve earned you. You earn what you love, it doesn’t just fall into your arms.

I’m becoming more and more convinced that I don’t want to be in love with anyone else, anymore. I can toy around with others as they toy back, but only for the stimulation, but even that would make me feel emptier. This is a pitiful Throw-away culture we live in, without proper appraisals. We’re too foolish to know what matters to us. And I’m not saying that I DO, I’m saying that I find it hard to care anymore. I love everyone and will do my best to show it, but I don’t love what we’ve become. Smiling mannequins. We’ve all let ourselves down.

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