Separated from other things or persons; alone; solitary.

Heartbreak is the act of compacting yourself to fit into an unhealthy relationship.

This isn't brain surgery and for damn sure isn't a new concept. Such a simple little sentence, but how many people do we know that constantly repeat the cycle of "man, why do I keep going for crazy fucking girls?" This leads to one of two theories: A., these people are not as intelligent as we would like to think, or B., these people are just as mentally screwed up as the people they are dating (because the people you choose to be with are only reflections of who you are, what you find attractive, what you find acceptable, what you're willing to put up with, and what you're willing to be subjected to).

Maybe it's me that I'm talking about. Maybe I am the fool that constantly makes excuses for my boyfriends when they walk all over me. "I've been kind of bad myself," I'll explain to my friends. "Maybe I deserved that." Maybe it is me that supports this cycle that continues to let wolves in sheep's clothing go unchallenged. Maybe it's me that knows that a person is undeserving of my love, and yet I still chase after that night he kissed me goodbye under streetlights so hard that it made me float back to my room. And I know, deep down, that he'll never kiss me like that again, and despite all attempts at re-living that night, he will only perpetually disappoint. Because on nights like those, despite common sense, we idealize. We see these people as our excuse to never be lonely again. We look past flaws even though most of us have good enough judgement to know that no one is really as pretty of a package as they appear.

We fall for the same rouse time and time again because those things in our stomach that we think are butterflies are really just dull grey moths. This is the feeling that infatuation makes when tearing down every wall you've ever built around your heart. This is when you're conned into thinking that this person is everything you've ever wanted. And that's where we go wrong because that's when we start believing that someone can complete us.

This person will stay for a significant amount of time and the two of you will take advantage and as much from each other as possible before he leaves you from unhappiness. You will cry and beg and say, "but it was true love!" but at the end of the day you'll be back at square one.

Because it wasn't true love. True love is not allowing yourself to think that someone completes you, but allowing someone to give you the support required to figure out how to complete yourself. True love isn't looking past a few days of forgotten phone calls (because no one ever really "forgets"- they just don't care as much as you fool yourself into thinking). Love isn't begging for answers, asking innumerable times, "why are you doing this?" to the beautiful boy who continues to string you along and break your heart. True love is knowing someone is deserving of your love when they are willing and excited to receive it. True love for ourselves is not giving our time to those reckless with our hearts because we know we are better than that.

Maybe it is me. In complete honesty I'm not sure I'm quite ready for true love. Just like when I was sixteen, I still curl into a fetal position in my bed in the dark with my eyes open staring at the wall. I'd like someone to take a look at the baggage I carry with me and not be upset about what they find inside. I wonder if there is anyone out there that can truly understand a machine, because sometimes being so introverted and self-reliant gets a little lonely. Sometimes, just because there is a new body in bed next to me doesn't mean I feel any less abandoned.