She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. Love. Not. Love. Not. Black. White. Black. White. When was love ever this separate? When was it ever this clear? The problems with love aren't black or white. They are grey. The problems are every shade of grey in between the black and the white. That's where the jealousy hides. That's where the unfaithfulness lies. That big pool of grey is what holds everything that we don't want to see.
Seeing the black and white isn't what hurts us. It's that grey area that's what scares us. It's the "She loves me, but can't be with me," and the "She loves me not, but will still lead me on like she does" that kills us. It's the grey area that makes our stomach turn like a cement mixer. And it's the grey area that makes us want to forget.
Even if we do only see the black and white. Only the love and the not. That flower still dies. It has been picked and those petals ripped off with ever "love" and "not." No matter what the outcome is, no matter if he or she loves you or doesn't, it still dies. Love dies, because like everything else in our lives, it is fleeting.
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