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my god， my god， whose performance am i watching? how many people am i? who am i? what is this space between myself and myself?

ugly angels spoke to me. the blame， i heard them say， was mine.

unloved from head to toe， uncared for whether alive， dead， sick， or suffering. it seemed like， from birth， he had never needed another’s support， never needed anything to depend on， and never needed anyone for company.

i have always loved people in the way of destruction. i give love as if i am good at taking a hit. i have never loved someone enough to believe they wouldn't hurt me.

i am， i thought， a tragedy.