Tormented

Why is it, Love to feel for another to give. And it missed. When the knowing of this. Leaves one haunted and tormented. Thinking about it to reminisce. Why is it, When one says, "No more. I am through. No more will I ever again, Be mistreated and abused. And allow love to me, Be mean and thoughtless. With this meant to do." Why is it, It seems always about love. How it is given and expected returned. With proof to scutinize. Until no longer love is there. Or care if ever to feel for another, A love. Unconditionally to believe this to admit. Why is it, That most will lie to themselves... About knowing what love is. Yet, Left to feel tormented. To realize if love was true, With if felt like they say they do. Then awaiting for it, Given from another. Will not leave them feeling suspicious, If what is said... Heard to hear. Is actually meant. Without seeking to be convinced of it.