Why? Because.
It was something that could not be found, shouldn't been found in me. Many a times I scolded at myself for thinking with such absurdity, hoping for something so powerful; and I would weep for this knowledge, too conspicuous to ignore, that I'm never deserving for its reach. I used to yearn, I used to plead. I cried. These tears futile, but stung the deeper wounds from beneath. My spirits frazzled, and became a doleful humidity in the suffocating air. The unbearable condition suddenly was the comforting warmth, which obscures the wretched flaws I tried to conceal. What I have is all I have. What isn't meant to be mine will never be attainable. But you were of another sort. You taught me a different kind of pain. A kind of pain that I could fight for, desired to fight for. And for the insomniac desire my spirits amended, awoke. What I received from you is a gift of inevitability. Now the girl who stands today is pugnacious, and perhaps a little too masochistic. Fidgeting and anticipating in combat, all or nothing--for the bitter-sweet pain of your love.