The foolish fool gets the night bruising up by visits of familiarity. Familiarity can pose largely apprehensive to anticipate, like a recurring ailment. Repetitive occurences have apparently not taught me sufficiently and adequately, to stop me from making the same mistakes in the name of affinity (and what ever that comes close to it). It hurts to have to admit being wired to insisting on staying this stubborn, and learning that the vicious cycle has replayed itself in its exact presentation once again. I find myself in a state of needing to recover and pick myself up.

Strength is never strength when it is easy for anyone to strike you down. So yes, there hasn't been the slightest progress since the trying of the regaining of my self-love. I sit here, penning down opinions of shame and disappointment, towards myself.

I used to staunchly, be in love with the idea of being in love. I was love's greatest fan and believer. That was one of the most endearing trait in me that would keep me rooted to the ground.

Now do you see how scary love can turn out to be? It turned me against itself.