Make the same mistakes in finite steps to breaking your own heart. Break. Reprise. Break. Repeat. And only break until you’re no longer left, and all you had to give is lost to lust and wasted in fleeting fucking smiles and double taps until that lurking fear you like to think can’t happen does and the only thing that is left is lonely. The only one to share it with is you, and any brief encounter in whatever hour your life brings home. Your quiet house, your silent home will fill with lyrics of only your favorite sad songs in remeniscence of all the lives you crossed and times you couldn’t commit and all the second chances you had and left for loss, always believing they were better off, better faired, when all along you were always scared.