I don’t think anyone has ever loved me, I think my past relationship have always been in love with the idea of me, with the words said and done. You know a guy who can write beautiful words about her, that makes her feel special, feel loved like one in a million. The idea that they are the only object of my desires. Because they become the very essence of the words I write, encapsulated on a simple bit of paper for all eternity. But you know what? They’re just a few words. My words aren’t me.