I used to believe that love was the greatest thing in the world.
I used to believe that I must therefore keep fighting against myself.
I used to believe in happy endings.
I wonder what happened to that guy. Somehow, somewhere along the way I lost him. I think he is still in me somewhere, buried deep inside, because sometimes when I strain myself I think I can hear him whispering at me. Whispering at me to keep fighting, to never give up. But it is a faint whisper, barely audible at all. Sometimes I try to remember what he said to me and I repeat those words to myself in my mind, trying to convince myself again in their meaning. But there is no real conviction. It is a lie, a façade, but I cannot fool myself. I can pretend however I want, but I do not believe in their meaning anymore.
But what do I believe then? Well, I would answer, I believe I am incapable of love. There, I have finally said it. It is out in the open at last. There can be no more denying it, no more obscuring the truth, no more pretending that everything is fine and dandy. I might have hinted at this before, I cannot truly recall, but this is the first time I have said this outright without sugarcoating it. This is what I truly believe. I believe the ability to love someone and to make someone feel loved and special, the capacity to show affection like a normal human being completely eludes me. Oh yes, I have made several attempts before, but asking me to do these things is like asking someone of my athleticism to throw down a 360 tomahawk dunk. The results would be exactly the same. Any attempts in both cases would be feeble and pitiful, destined for complete failure at the very outset. In such cases, perhaps it is better not to even try at all. Continue reading