How it dulled the terror and the beauty

Gently chaffed about my lack of strong feelings for anything recently, so naturally I think of you — the glaring exception, the man who grips my emotion the way one hand seizes another before slamming it to the table for the decisive win in the most pitifully unfair arm wrestling contest ever witnessed.

Are you proof that I am capable of caring, or, as the conspicuous black hole into which all my sentiment is siphoned, are you evidence of why I am incapable of caring about anything else? Yes, by all means, keep telling me how meaningless we are, because it has become quite clear by this fixation that the reverse psychology is working.

Somewhere, some time, a girl stares wide-eyed at you while you proselytize the relentless search for something better. She concludes that you will eventually leave her, and she begins to understand for the first time that settling is a sin. Fear and restlessness fuel her for the rest of her wretched life. The End?