Love is evil, but love doesn't exist. The very idea of love is as foolish as an imaginary friend. It's something we pretend is there, but in fact, is not. Yet still, somehow, it is a dagger in the dark, driven by an unknown hand. It's a predator that lurks silently under the cover of false promises, and eventually, leaps forth to feed. On what, you ask? On life, on the heart.

I fell in love for four years, and I had total faith in it, in her. It got to the point when I actually believed that God had put us together, that we had a destiny. I thought she believed so, too. What a fool I was. Love is always destined to fail, like walking on a holographic bridge. She stabbed me in the back, and the knife is still there, stuck in a wound that I cannot reach.

Summer 2003, she left with me for dead. That was the year I graduated. She did this despite everything I had sacrificed the year before to be with her in Seattle on her graduation. How ironic, that she would do this to me even after her reason for leaving her previous boyfriend was that he had missed her middle school graduation.

Weeks later, I discovered she had been cheating on me for a year prior. I had put everything I had into the relationship and more. I was always the first to say, "I love you," and sometimes the only. I worked for a year and a half at a job that left me with several mental disorders just to save up to be with her; that, and buy her gifts.

She led me around in a daze since the moment I met her. I was attracted to that succubus in every way. Physically, emotionally, spiritually: it all had me lost in her. To this day, I believe she knew that I was tangled in her web. Maybe that's why she was so easily able to sever herself from it all. After all, she was the one who spun it, and to trap me. I was but another meal to satisfy her evil appetite for wandering souls.

Each summer I visited her, everything seemed to lose more of its luster, but I didn't care. I still had hope, and she still had me. Little did I know that I didn't have her. Days dull and gray warped by in a moaning misery, and in each, I sought salvation that I would never find. I left for the final time in 2002, with a kiss so routine that I never flinched in its finality. I still didn't know it was over. Still, something deep within me churned most painfully, a wincing instinct that warned me of things to come.

It came in a phone call several months later after many dull, lifeless conversations preceding it, or so I remember. It's all a faded blur now, but the pain remains. I hung onto her for days, weeks, months, pleading for her return, but to no avail. After everything, it ended in a brilliant flash, my life exploding in my face. I had wasted four years, four of the best years, of my life on that ruthless witch. I gave everything, and got nothing. I dedicated myself entirely to her, and she wore me around her little finger like another piece of jewelry, nothing more.

Now, she lives her life just as happily as when I entered it, happier than when I left it. She has moved on, having scarred me eternally. She's attached herself to a new man, like a leech to any source of fresh blood. She's been given opportunities in life that most never even catch a glimpse of, opportunities that she doesn't deserve.

Now, I stand as a man that survived the storm without a reason. I live now only to look remorsefully on the shrapnel and splinters of what used to be happiness, of what I used to call a life. I realize now that love doesn't exist, but fate is unforgiving. It matters no more than a man realizing murder is wrong after he has already done so. I can only walk on, knowing forever more that a black stain ruins the road behind and in front of me. I can only hope that the darkness brought about by it doesn't lead me astray into my own death.

Love is evil, and it doesn't even exist. It's an illusion and a delusion that leads us all to our dooms with the song of a siren. For all our intelligence, a noose that doesn't exist will forever hang us. Be warned, my friends.