It is easier to leave and pretend everything is okay than it is to stay and try to make myself believe love is a real, tangible thing. It isn’t. Love is a destroyer. It destroys everything in its path. I’m only eighteen, and after watching my parents, I know this. After pining after a guy who’s never noticed me, I know this better than anyone. Love is blind. And fucking stupid. It’s an emotion I refuse to waste my time on.
