Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
     If this be error and upon me proved,
     I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

This is a recipe for suffering. To believe Shakespeare's words in this day and age is to suffer silently for a lost cause. How can you believe in Love in the future when you lose faith in your past love?

A paradox, no?

How can you hope for love when you think back on what you thought was love and try to convince yourself that it was not what you made it out to be?

If you have loved and lost that love, then it must have been altered, bent, and made a fool of in the end. 

I was recently told that it takes two to fail at love. What a crock of shit. It takes only one. One who is fooling themselves that they were in love while the other was sincere. One that was willing to take the chance while the other was looking for an out. One that was planning to pop the question while the other was looking to be just friends.

One that tried to burn themself because they could not bear hurting the person they loved, because they thought they were not good enough for the person they loved, one who made all the wrong decisions because they loved truly, and another that could not see anything except that they were a victim of an inconstant lover.

The only regret is that I wasted my time being faithful to a ghost while Love stood laughing at my plight.