{An old poem I found in one of my notebooks.}

I see no reason to love, to live or laugh but I do. I laugh to make others smile, I live to help others who share my misery, and I love my secret with all my shattered soul.

But why? Why does laughter urge me to cry? Why does life make me yearn to die? Why does my heart kill me each time they are thought of?

The most important question though, why do I love when it hurts?

Each love a cruel agony, every heart break is me being sent to my death bed, over and over. 

Is this my punishment? For Joy? For caring?

Then, if it is, I will accept it. Let it tear me apart, as it has been all these years. Let it consume me, be my death and send my soul to hell. 

After all, we are just human, all drunk on the idea of love, and only love, will fix our brokenness.

 I used to be one of them, the happy ones, but now I realise growing is leaving behind dreams and enduring reality.