There is this thing that I do- its called living. I try to live in a way that will satisfy my heart and soul on the day I die when I look back on all that has happened. The problem is, I’ve made some dire mistakes. Mistakes that have caused me to lose things that I love deeply. I still love those things- or I guess you should call them people since that, in truth, is what they are. My mistakes broke what I love. In a literal sense, someone died. In a figurative sense, someone died as well- because the being in which I loved, the way which he carried himself, the man who he was in my life disappeared and no longer exists. I regret my mistakes for they have taken great men from this world and I do not want to mess up like that again.
For a while it seemed as though if I loved someone, they would end up dead. Whether it be literal or figurative. For a while, I would go on dates and have feelings start to stir for these guys that made me feel guilty. Guilty for thinking that I could build a relationship with them and make them happy. So, I stopped. I stopped my feelings so they wouldn’t get hurt.
I feel guilty with you.