S.C.R.A.P.S.I cannot possibly forgive myself for giving in to this
Freaky as it may sound, today I finally understood Lord Voldemort. I have found some terribly beautiful parallels between my fear of loving with a whole heart and his repugnance to living finitely. Screwing up ends in either one of the top two things anybody would most hate to face — a devastating heartbreak or a miserable death. And just as hiding pieces of himself into several objects saves him from actually dying, giving pieces of my tiny selfish heart to several people assures me that no one can hurt me so bad I’ll fall to my knees. Having a choice (albeit of guys) gives me a sense of control over my feelings. That with every demise of a relationship I can just shrug my shoulders and tell myself “it’s okay, I didn’t like him that much either; off to the next.” I may sound slutty, pathetic, or even evil. Whatever. I just don’t want to feel the all-too-familiar ache that used to follow me everywhere, the kind that only comes from tying your happiness to a planet with its own orbit. I got dragged along so heavily I couldn’t stay on my own path.
The only thread holding me back against jumping off the ledge of humanity (aside from the possibility of having slits for a nose) is my friend’s reminder that in his quest for immortality, Tom Riddle’s soul was split into pieces. I don’t want to become that girl either. Wish I were 8 years old again.
