It seems to be the most distressing truth to admit the fact that i haven't truly got over my first love, and another to actually confess that I didn't actually love my ex when I said I did. It is of the most complex feeling which I, myself can't seem to comprehend. A part of me is afraid that I will never, in the future, find another love so convincing as the first one. Even if I will, I won't have the courage to pursue it.
Often these sudden thoughts bring about a feeling of loneliness which, after all these years, has proven itself to be the strongest enemy of mine. I am envious to all those people in relationships - either good or bad- for none of them matches the dreadfulness of being alone. I crave for a company; yet another part of me told me to learn to live my life, learn to be independent, learn to protect myself. Having a person to depend on, though excruciatingly enjoyable, is disastrous when lost. One may struggle and find its way to independence or may give up and live in despair. The one that survives may know better than to repeat the same old story.
I think the first suits me better... ;) what about you?
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