No poetic utterances here. No allegories, clichés, or illustrations.
No. Nothing but very raw emotion.
Numerous small events have compiled into one giant numbing realization. A realization so broken that I cannot bear for it to cascade onto this page. 
Two years ago, I determined, in this tiny corner of the web, that I would never write of love again. I have kept that promise. When I swore off writing of love, I stopped writing. Writing was what I loved. I had always thought that I believed in love because I wrote. This was not the case. I wrote because I believed in love. 
I do believe in love for others. But for myself? Honestly? Deep down, I don't. I say that I do because I long for that hope to return. 
It does shake one's faith a bit when you believe you've heard from heaven... And you were dead wrong. Opportunities present themselves occasionally. Opportunity is not always a good idea. 

This is really a shamble of thoughts that have been pacing through my consciousness. In summary, I wish I knew what I was doing wrong. I've lost close friends, ruined relationships, and just simply feel inadequate.