What is it that makes humans love? That makes us crave the companionship or another warm body in bed? And why, exactly, are we so heart broken when the connection ends? I've never gotten the whole thing about falling in love. I mean, lust, I can get. As animals, that's how we are programmed. But, what makes our hearts beat fast, our palms sweat, and our minds to reel out of control? I love my family, but that's not the same love as a husband should love a wife. My family is very dear to me, but that's because I know them, and they've raised me. And I love my close friends for the same reason. But I have never loved a man, or a woman, for that matter. I'm young, yes, but shouldn't I feel a connection other than lust with the people I date? Oh, there have been a few times where I had convinced myself that I loved someone, most recently my latest boyfriend, but I guess that couldn't be love, since when he moved to another city, I cried for a few days, but... Well, to be honest, I'm okay with that. I mean, it's sad that our fun was cut short, but I'm not miserable and eating gallons of ice cream or whatever love-sick girls do. In my opinion, love doesn't really exist. Look around you, at all those people who said their faithful vows to only split a year or two later. Take my parents, for example. Tony--my father--is cheating on my step mother, Melanie. And everyone in the household knows it. They hate each other, while still claiming to be in love. That's not love, not to me. Does love exist outside the minds of optimists? Or do we mistake lust and comfortableness for love? Whatever one, am I capable of loving and being loved? I've spent hours running this question through my head. Who's to say who is deserving of love? Not me, of course. I'm pretty sure that love isn't right for me. I'm pretty messed up, in a lot of ways; some I won't even admit to myself. And I refuse to drag anyone down with me. Still. It is pretty lonely sometimes.