The difficult thing about me is pictures talk to me, even if I don’t know the situations well.
And I perfectly see the circle you put people into, first smiling for a new happiness you give them, then dying in a vortex of crisis that gradually turn off those smiles for good, burdened by desires, doubts, problems, hopes they secretly suspect might not go as they plan. Desperately hanging on some of your pretty constructions.
You are a terrible, ever self-deluded, dangerous, deliberate, secretly extremely egoistic, edonistic disease.
They always want from you things you cannot really give them. Because they want you to LOVE them, and love, I’m sorry, you don’t even know what it is.
If only you ever knew…