Ink spills from the pen,

Bleeding onto the paper.

Dancing across,

Twirling.

Making beautiful words.

Beautiful nothings.

Because I am writing to you.

But I know you won’t even read this.

It means nothing, to you.

Because I mean nothing to you.

Nothing at all.

I knew right from the start you could never love me.

Not that it stopped me.

Unrequited love.

What a beautiful thing, no?

No.

Love is horrible.

Love his hatred.

Love is empty nothingness.

Because that’s all we are.

Empty shells,

We play at being humans.

Like we played house when we were little.

But this is the real world, now.

What is reality though?

Is reality what you can feel, and taste and smell?

Love is reality then.

A slap, but you still go back for more.

Because you love him.

Blood in your mouth, but you still go back for more.

Because you love him.

Gas, from your oven.

You can’t go back for more.

Even though you loved him.

Love is crazy.

Love is horrible.

Love is amazing.

But only when it is shared.

Love between one person is nothing.

Love between one person is not love at all.

Because we as humans cannot survive without other people.