We are sold this idea that love will complete us. Watch any movie and you'll find it over and over again - the highest aspiration of women is always marriage. Endless possibilities in storytelling and they've got us chasing down cupid's arrow. Love, a divine part of life doesn't complete us, and turns out physical perfection or luxury won't make us happy. Being beautiful, an overrated human quality, has little to do with the physical self, but we are sold these ideas because inadequacy equals money. They call us ugly to sell us shit. We buy into absurd ideas of success, ticking off life goal boxes in a survey we can't explain the reason for. It all seems so clear now after the storm, past individual perceptions and transference, past clinging to the delusions we all need to survive. Life is just seeing how much truth your spirit can take. And hindsight is 20 fucking 20. No one knows what the hell they're doing. We're all stumbling around blindly trying to find answers, and in that crazy dance we hurt each other. We feel alone and never truly understood, just like the billions of people who watch the stars with us. I never truly knew Mark. I hate to admit it, but I fell in love with a perception. An idea of him, a reflection of what I needed in a person, pure untapped potential. Romantic whirlwind? Yeah. Fucking deluded? Absolutely. I didn't hesitate for a second to send the guy I had known a whole 3 months intimate photos when he asked. But it's only rumours. No point worrying until you have something to worry about. Looking back there were red flags that I artfully ignored in my rosy delusions and thrill of rebellion against my own better judgement. Even when I knew I wanted out, the delusions only got louder. Are you really going to meet someone better? You're safe. This is comfortable, just see where it goes. It'll get better when (insert apathetic excuse here). Fuck that life. We all eat lies when we're hungry, but I'm leaving the table. Oh shit, Toby's here. I can hide, or lock the door... Too late. Pull the blanket up and pretend to be part of the lounge? "Hi" He looks like a five year old trying to look sad while concealing an exciting secret. Ladies, gentlemen and loose cunts - my friend Toby. The transparent pumpkin headed fuck. I feel my heart start to drop before I hear the first word of the story that I know is coming. "Mark showed everyone some photos today..." Of course he did, probably the first bit of proof that anyone's ever been interested in the stupid asshat. I feel my heart start burning a hole through my chest. I can pretend not to care, take the whole empowering, above it all angle, but I don't think I have it in me. "You know what I think?" I look at Toby with a level of apathy reserved for gothic hipsters but he continues. "Consent is sexy. I think everyone knows Mark is an asshole". Ah, when logic overrides slut shaming. You've got to appreciate the little victories. I may have been a little harsh on my pumpkin headed friend. "Thank you Toby." He looks me dead in the eye "you're still a fucking muppet". "Goodnight Toby." I pull the blanket over my head and hear him leave. I could just live under this blanket for at least a month. I just need my laptop and a power point. On second thought I should probably avoid... Facebook. He wouldn't. I should have cropped my face out. No. There's no fucking way.... 106 notifications. Holy shit. There it is. There I am. That's me. Untag untag report report deactivate. Deactivate from everything, from it all.