A Serve of Masochism

What a terrible realisation, to recognise the masochism in myself. All this time I must have been just another stupid person who puts themselves in situations with a flicker of hope in their hearts, knowing that the only thing to come of it would be a searing pain and a renewal of gut-aching sorrow. I should have known. This isn't the first time, after all. This is why I keep my distance. This is why I never really put myself out there; I would rather deal with the potentials, the possibilities, the fantasies, the projections, than the reality that's staring me in the face anyway. The truth is that I'm never going to have you, am I, my dear? But that won't stop me from turning my head every now and again, just to catch a glimpse, even if it means that I might see a heartstopping smile that hits me like a knife tracing its point along my insides.