Sharp scissors that cut deep inside my person. Cut the red strings. Cut the devotion. Addiction. The theory muddied. Memories too. The hope to love somebody like you. A cathartic release that leaves my person in question. Am I better? Or worse, is it numb and empty? Cut the devotion. Delusion. The idealist who'll never be loved.
Sound advice
How can someone expect you to treat others with kindness if you can't treat yourself with kindness?