Sons and daughters of a whore

Love

How can one love so easily? Loving someone we barely know. Loving an image, a concept. Saying we love what we do not. Disgusting.
People drench the concept of love and beauty with filth, carnal desires, feelings hidden as love. Do they crave so deeply for love that they end up in doubt of it's existence? Are they capable of fooling themselves with shallow feelings of affection, to the point that it doesn't matter what they truely feel for eachother?
I can only feel spite and pity for those who trick themselves into thinking that they love.
But what if one of the two loves the other? Living while knowing that they are not only deceiving someone who holds him dearly but also himself? These thoughts sickens me. The thought of an impure love built artificialy from the search for affection.
I cry, for what I am one of those that I despise. I'm capable of doing the things that I condemn. What an hipocrate race we are...
It burns my chest, my stomach, my hands, my very being: this thought of not finding love.
For not loving nor being loved, I blame those who love without loving; those who are loved without being loved; those that choose the brief moment over the warmth of love! Joy is an addiction. Choosing joy over love... It's like they're feasting upon the feelings felt towards them. Cruel is the existente of humans.
The fear of clinging to a fake love overwhelms me. Losing time that could've been spent on a true feeling.

May the cowards love, while not being loved!