Agony

I know this is unhealthy; the looming anxiety over imagining the way they would disappoint you again, like they did the last few times.

Even your happy moments didn’t last very long, because you became very sensitive over all the past mistakes that one little thing could easily make you upset and very very bitter.

But you don’t like anyone else—you can't like anyone else because you’re cursed, and you genuinely believe they’re tailor-made for you since no one ever made you feel all the things the same way they did. And you see a bit of yourself in them, thinking you can fix them the same way you’re trying to fix yourself, purposely blind to the fact that it’s not working, not even at all.

In the end, you’re just wallowing in self-pity. 

Was it ever even love? Or has it always been an obsession over someone you projected to be some ideal figure you created in your own mind?

You can hear the clock strikes twelve. A loud reminder that you only have a few more hours to prepare for the disappointment you set up for yourself, again.