one thing i swear never to do is to lose my ability to sympathise with those who are perpetually in torment because of unrequited love.
their eyes are always too bright, polished by their tears in the dark of the night
their faces vacant, incapable of living a normal life after having drunk from the cup and left to contend with their own scales of feeling – alone. they become like sylphs, passing through everything, but touching nothing, remembering nothing.

it is a miserable state of affairs. being alive, but at the same time, for all intents and purposes, dead.

i feel for you, but the only thing i can say to you that will not be of the slightest use is this: don’t cry.



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