In The Darkness on the Edge of Town

And so I'm in love with a woman who will never love me back or be able to do so.

The love unrequited. The bane of Petrarch; the scorn of Dante.

I sit here and write this with the soberest of spirits and weep in a sorrow so deep and primal.

Damned to suffer, I am, an existence worse than any I could imagine:

To find the one you've been searching for, and know that she will never love you as you do her.

I try to suppress the pain by logic, reason, and sympathy. None of it truly works.

God help me.