A Collection of Spectacles

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Forever disappointed in others and often myself. I play tough but fold quickly like most romantics, tender and frightened underneath. I’m more like a sadomasochistic one though, chasing love because I know it will be wretched and painful. I wonder if I act differently with platonic friends because love interests are always hot and cold with me (and I can never keep their attention long enough). I endlessly stress over why someone rejects me and obsess over past scenarios, a list of my previous actions and deeds.

Maybe it’s all just bad timing, or maybe I don’t know how to be sexually empathetic. It’s easier to seem desirable from behind a screen, but real life interaction terrifies me. I’m better in two dimensions. I rant to you about larger concepts and ideas, showing off books and music because I can’t muster up the courage to say that I think about you all the time. Always gotta play it cool, you know. Whatever. Part of me thinks I should just give up on the idea of love altogether and focus on working on myself.

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