Why it Hurts to Care

One
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Five

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Seven

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I counted all the people I have hurt in the past. The numbers keep adding up so I gave up on using my fingers to keep track.

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Ten

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I don't know when it started. I wasn't even aware of the storm I brought when I get close to people. Wait. That's a wrong metaphor. I can't be a storm. Storms are supposed to be thrilling, exhilarating; because no matter how strong and devastating it gets, people still remember their storms fondly.

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Thirteen
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What does that make me then?

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Fourteen

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Maybe I'm more of an iceberg. Nobody is sure what to make of me. All they see is the top. Nothing out of the ordinary. As normal as everyone else.

Simple.

Small.

Easy to understand.

Not dangerous...

But that's just all in their head. They don't understand what really transpires. They don't see the massive part of me that's hiding beneath the surface. Waiting. Silently. Patiently. Waiting for a new victim to fall prey to my seeming helplessness...and they do. Over. and Over. and Over again.

Eighteen

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Nineteen

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Is it my fault then? 

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Twenty

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Is it my fault that I care?

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Twenty-Two

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I don't know. I've been this way since I was little. I have always been an iceberg. So I ask, why do people still approach me? They get to close, although all the warnings and red flags has been raised. Still, they approach me. Thinking they are different from everyone else. Thinking they could stay with me without getting hurt. Thinking they are different from a the people I've hurt in the past. And I believe them...each and every freakin time.

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Twenty-Three

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Those who stay gets comfortable. They come closer and closer to me, hoping to bridge the distance in between my messed up self, and the comfort they hope to bring. But they don't and they can't.

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Twenty-Eight

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Everytime someone gets near, I get my hopes up that they'd actually stay. So I start giving my all. I listen, I spend time with them, I share who I am; my dreams and aspirations. I give out everything because I know the feeling of being left alone all too well. Leaving nothing with me but a small piece of myself.
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Twenty-Nine

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Then it happens. The inevitable. By forces that are so much larger than myself, things start falling apart. The cracks begin to show and I start becoming distant again. Those who try to reach out are blown farther away from me. They get lost, and so do I. Everything turns silent. No more laughter. No more songs. No more stories. No nothing. Everything. Just. Stops.

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Thirty

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Damn.

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Where did I stop again?

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Oh right.

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Thirty

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