A little girl in a pink dress sat in a dark room, talking to the wall. "I finally understand why I torture myself." She whispered. "Day after day I read beautiful love stories about things I wish I could, but can never have. I have always asked myself why I do it, and today I finally had an answer. When I think about love, it gives me a false feeling of hope. It's almost as if I think "Well they can find love, maybe I can too!" Lies. I will never find love, and when I actually think, I understand that. The only problem is, when I don't have that hope all that is left are memories. You might think memories of happiness is better than no happiness, but it's not. With the memories of happiness come the other memories. The ones of sadness and betrayal. Will I ever be alright? Probably not. But at least I have my fake hope, right? Right? Maybe?" She fell to the ground sobbing, knowing the walls could never bring real comfort.