compiling

I'm compiling. copy and pasting. re-reading. Somethings seem as if I'm reading them for the first time. But its been 1000's. nothing has changed really. I did change for a bit. Seemingly had everything under control. Scratching this scab has opened a wound that never healed properly. I wanted everything to be fine. I wanted to love one man. I wanted his love to be good enough forever. At least that's what I thought I wanted. Then one night I wrote myself a note. It read. "I'm aware that the decisions I'm making are destroying everything I have. But what if I don't want any of it?" So there it is. Three years later. I've built so much. Strived so hard to be everything to everyone. Gone on and on in a romantic-less relationship that I tried too hard to make happen. And in a matter of 3 months - pic axed it to a pile of rubble. If I write this story. Its not going to end well. And I feel like the entire world wants a happy ending. But sometimes you don't find god, some times you don't find love, sometimes you fuck everything up and nothing works out. That's just how some stories go. Breast cancer tales are filled with pink fuzzy ribbons and stronger mother daughter relationships. My story is black and stinks of rotten chicken.