Love is a gamble.

Love is a gamble.

But I’m not willing to take that bet.

The odds are thin, and the downfall is massive.

I’m not risking myself against numbers stacked so high against me.

So I stay away.

I want the grand prize — but the price of losing?

Losing me — my peace, my mental and emotional stability, my sense of self.

Black or red?

Black feels too dark, too lonely.

Red terrifies me — one minute it’s passion, the next it burns from the inside out.

Even or odd?

I’m always the odd one out — never quite even, never quite enough.

My hair’s not done. I’m too tired to get dressed and go out.

When will I be the gamble?

When will someone see me, risk it all, and work with me to build the grand prize?