I have discovered love doesn't exist.
It's a matter of tolerating someone, or wanting someone. It's lust or tolerance.
Love is an illusion.
Because you know, I always believed love was wanting someone else to be happy above yourself, willing to die for a person, caring without consequence.
But when my own parents can't do that, then how does it exist?
It's also kind of hard being the adult all the time. Always apologizing. Always trying to make up. Always. Always. I never get a break. Nobody else ever reaches out to me.
I'm always fighting to repair things that it wasn't only me who damaged. It was both of us. And sometimes maybe I wasn't the one who damaged it. Sometimes I'm repairing it, trying to help out other people.
I just... it's tiring.
I hate summer.