Shattered, Broken beyond repair

From http://quotlr.com/

Who would want to be with someone like me? Like a discarded piece of trash, like a broken China doll? Sure it may look like I'm all pretty and all made up outside, that when you talk to me there is nothing wrong, but when you find out about the deepest secrets that lurk in the corners of my dark, deranged self, no one would be able to stomach the horrors that live in them.

"I love you." Who knew that those three, simple words would be so difficult portray? Much more even say?

But, alas, I couldn't. I shouldn't. It's suicide.

It would be like baring yourself in this highly superficial world, only to be shattered again, and again, and again. Only to make you realize that the shattered, broken you can be shattered further until there's nothing left but dust.

What do I know about love, anyway? Does caring for someone mean you love them? Couldn't you care for someone out of habit? Or out of responsibility? Or out of necessity?

What, then, is love?

I thought that I knew what love was. Sure, I've felt those butterflies in my stomach, those first thoughts in the morning and last thoughts at night, those daydreaming of going places with that one person. But that is being in love. Not love. After all, being in love is nothing but a mixture of chemical signal. But what after that? What happens when your body no longer responds to the same chemical stimuli? What do you do when that phase has come and gone, when the feeling of euphoria has come to pass? What do you then?

Cynicism, sarcasm, etc. Those are the walls I've put up to mask the feeling of loneliness, of longing for someone, or something, that you feel is either too good to be true, or too good to last. And those walls I've put up were enough for most people to back out, especially in this day and age where people are used to getting things in a snap of a finger.

"I love you." Or do I really? Maybe I just like you, not love you. Liking and loving are different things. It could be that it's an impulse, a quick fix. I like how you make me smile, how you make me feel important. I like how you make time for me. But once that has been satiated, what then?

I've built so many walls, so many barriers, just so that I could guard my own self, that I could hold out on my own. It's those walls that keep me strong, that holds me together, like a glue that holds things apart. But, like a glue, the cracks will still be there, and if you inspect them closer, you'll realize how broken I really am inside.

Shattered, broken beyond repair. The only thing left to do is keep my distance from everyone, to make sure that those walls and barriers and kept in place. Else, I may go and break down, and I when that happens, there may never be enough of me left to pick up any of the broken pieces that have shattered to put them back in place.