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Misanthropic cynic.

Love is a scary thing. To give yourself away to someone, putting all your faith that it's not in vain. you never know their motives, nor do they know yours. I've learnt to lie with a strait face and what has it gotten me? An ambiguous life, equivocal nature. A complex web of half truths, with no intention of lying. This life gets to us all, tormented innocence turning cold. I can't believe that love is a splendorous thing, it's hard to imagine, in this disgusting tainted world, a salvation by the name of "love". 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. No one wants to be alone in this world. We grapple and cling to a chance at happiness, no matter the price.

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