You don’t know me but, but, but you claim a love.
A love for humanity or something closer. A love for me? Or a love for your newfound, your profound way of living. Of life, of death. Of all things that seem as some sort of home to you. A home which no person, no objective can fill. Your heart is a waste of a muscle in your weak body. It’s empty space in a crowded room. Therefore, there yet, your heart has become nothing but empty room. Will you sell; will you rent your heart? Is it even for sale? Time after time. Week after week. Year after year, you shall not find a true meaning, a detestation of your specific world. Thus, you keep searching and looking for a sign of love, when they are all facing different directions. You lost your direction, you lost your life, and you never found love. Go back to your empty room, and wait for a offer.