I am sick of loving things that don't love me back. These things, I'm sure, have no idea I feel this way. Some of them care. Some of them claim to care more than I comprehend. There is room for selfish in caring. Caring is not loving, not exactly. Some of them I have given my life to and still, they throw me out. They don't look back. Some of them I walk away from before they walk away from me. I am sick of being in love with things that leave me sitting in a corner or wondering if I said something wrong. I am sick of being in love with question marks. I don't want maybes.
I know the logical answer to this. I know I usually do the opposite of that. What I don't know is if my heart knows what it's talking about.
...Terica.
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