All the world's a stage

I was wrong. I thought you were going to be there for me, I thought we were going to work.
What should have been a love story with a touch of comedy turned into a horrible tragedy.
Whose tragic flaw is at fault? Your inability to be consistent, or my constant refusal to let go?

You're not sorry. I don't want to hear anything that you have to say; I don't care anymore.
You say that this is easier; cleaner. How dare you even suggest that this is the easy way out.
Pain in temporary, pride is forever? what about Pain is temporary, but love is forever?
Lies.
Pain is suffering and misery that we are physically programmed to block out once we make it through to the other side. Pride is partially at fault for why I'm nursing my cuts at the current moment.
and love? Let's not even go there right now.

That's what I get for trusting you, for believing that you wouldn't hurt me again.
I was the foolish female who chased the egotistical protagonist, too blinded by her emotions to realize that he simply wasn't ready.
I've had enough with the director of this sadistic bullshit.
No bows. No applause.
Let the curtain fall for the final time; let me perform on a stage where no one can see me.