All the human soul really aches for is a significant other to be connected to our own.
It is the pain of the realization that this is impossible that kills.
The only thing entirely necessary to fulfill the heart's desire and life's purpose is to be loved.
We dart around, from person to person, to try and grasp that feeling, to trick ourselves into believing that if we search hard enough, life will finally be complete.
The unnaturally warm feeling one receives from their fingertips merely grazing the surface, just out of reach.
And then falling, back to square one.
Then all those complications of self-loathing begin to intensify.
The welling feeling of blame upon oneself, because there is no one else closer to the heart to play a scapegoat.
The shed tears, the dubbing oneself as a failure.
We begin to search for someone, anyone, to help us put our feet on the ground again.
Repeat.
Sadly, we only have the apathetic expanse of the internet to document our human condition.
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