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We all are ships in this global game of naval (heart) battle...
You never resign yourself to having been 'one of many', a mark on the board, a number in an address book. One never accepts that one has been only the umpteenth successful date.
And yet, as with all economic laws, love has become a policy subject to supply and demand: you are no longer a smile to conquer, a scar to caress... you are just a target to be hit and sunk.
We are ships in this global game of naval battle, they randomly undermine you in your weak points and you fall, drowning.
They ask me why I don't want to live a new story anymore, how I manage to be alone while remaining cheerful and smiling. It's easy, much easier than you think, you just have to love yourself beyond all things.
Learn that falls aren't bad, every time you fall the perspective changes, you learn to fight from the bottom, pulling out the grit. You get back up. And it stays with you, the grit and anger stays to help you stop being a sign: you have a name and an identity, you are no longer fuckable, you are a beast.
It matters little if you don't find another beast like you, you certainly won't be counted, but you will count. You'll be the one you can't get to and can only look at from afar, like the biggest and highest fruit. Those who want to get there will have to struggle.
They will tell you that you are ugly, unattractive, old, strange, unsociable, unfriendly, bitter.... without even knowing you and no one will consider you.
No one, no one?
Great, you guys don't imagine it but I'm enough. I live. Good.