I don’t believe in love. I’m not denying it exists—I’ve seen it happen for other people. I just don’t believe it will ever happen for me. My love for my family is like the roots of an oak tree. A part of the tree, necessary for life. It’s always been there and it always will be. But romantic love . . . I’ve never experienced it. Maybe I’m just too selfish. I can’t imagine loving somebody more than I love my own comfort and having my own way. The idea of being controlled by someone else, doing things for their convenience instead of mine . . . no thanks. I barely tolerate that for my family.
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