You told me not to love.
You told me that I should be careful because people "switch", and my poor, empathetic self will grieve over yet another failed love.
But whilst telling me not to love, and warning me of all the possible heartache my supply of emotions would bring me,
you became my number one betrayer.
Because you led me by your loving rope; your soft words and caring actions tugged me along the way, making me believe that this is what all these years were leading up to.
The signs were there, but you weren't.
And yet again my naive empathy has wounded me;
my number one trait becomes my tragic flaw.
You told me not to love because someone would use it against me.
You told me not to love...because you didn't want me loving you.