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The Curse of Philophobia

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I like this boy. He is smart, kind, and funny. But I know that I will never act on my feelings no matter what happens. Not even if he told me he liked me. Because the idea of love frightens me to the deepest most aloof part of my soul. But I keep daydreaming of him, and this warm feeling comes to me. Then suddenly it all is broken down by the idea of him ever falling to his grave, or telling me he never loved me.

I keep trying to convince myself that love is the oldest fairy tale in the history of the human raise. Because if love isn’t real I’m not afraid, I’m not brittle to the human touch. I don’t have any excuse to be afraid. My parents are happily married and I have never had a traumatic experience. So, why me? Why can’t the nightmares stop haunting me? How could I destroy my life?

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