Unable

I use to breathe and live by love, give it to the most unfortunate and unlikely to receive it
my love was charity and compassion, for the return of selfless love is the most precious treasure one can have.
Little do they tell that, once love is given it cannot be taken back. Perhaps I gave all of mine, come to think that it might take an eternity to get some of it back.
As I stand here, loveless, millions of different feelings come to place: lust, hunger, coldness of being, passion, hate. Began to think my heart's grown hard and tough with no place for warm sentiments or kindness towards another who tries to get in. Began to think others were unworthy of my love or even I was unworthy of my love. Began to forget how it was to live on an edge of madness caused by somebody else whom I despise today. Miss the feelings, never the men. Believe I haven't, to this day, met even half of the person one should be to deserve such complex appreciation as mine. Would like to think I earn no regrets, would like to think every mistake was necessary and every fall a new beginning. I wish these veins on my hands could let you know where they've been. I wish I could showcase all the people (men) who made my chest so hard and who killed all the butterflies in my stomach. Wish I still had the colors to showcase the ones who made me cry and pour out joy into words. Of all the ones I loved, all the ones I cried for and out of all the ones that made my days worth living, the ones I haven't met and the moments I still haven't lived are, certainly, the ones that I miss and what makes life hurt the most, for it is the uncertainty of fulfillment that moves me and kills me every day.