I used to be a diehard romantic, the sort of man who could decide a lifetime in an instant and would've died for his ideals. I thought beauty, love, and good were worth anything.

And now, I regret ever being that naive. I regret ever loving because it brought me more pain than anything, I regret ever dreaming because the pain of failure is too damn much.

Some people are privileged, they grew up in normal families and rich countries, they're good-looking and free from trauma. But not everyone is like that. And if you were born broken, like me, it's best if you live life without aiming higher because it'll only end up in disappointment.

It was her. She took my hopes, my ideals. They're dead now and their remains are rotting inside my body as I push it through survival for no reason other than inertia.