I keep playing near the fire, thinking this one will be different. But every time I think that this time maybe, just maybe, I won't. I always do. I want to douse the fire, never to look back at it again, but I know I won't. Every time I swear this is it, there's no hope left, no one for me out there. But, I still have one little bit of hope left. I feel like the empress at the end of The Neverending Story. I hold that one little glimmer in my hand, but there is no Bastian to make my world whole again. Love is a cruel joke that the universe plays on us. I don't know that I believe there is such a thing. I've never seen true love work out for anyone close to me except my brother. Why should I think that I'm any different than the other women in my life? I'm doomed to be like them, alone or miserable. Life has proven this to me.
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