Courtesy his universal nature, we shall begin this piece by calling our protagonist The Scorned Lover. He lives in all of us, his legacy has been carried forward by the stalwart and the meek. He has been romaticized, he has been ridiculed. And yet he goes on. He seeps into the cracks of our made-up perfect existence and slaps rejection right into our faces.
His tales of woe and dejection are known to all. He is proud of his pain, and he is cut to size by them. He is a fall from grace, and a rise of the phoenix too. He is his own critic, his own destructor. His worst qualities are his purest. His love is an unwavering, unending inconvenience. He is a pillar of support, and a source of infinite guilt. He is confused in his clarity. He is trapped in his freedom to love.
But most of all, The Scorned Lover is a beating heart, and nothing more. He is constantly hoping, even as all his faith is slowly eroded by all that is real and ugly. He is a light, burning his very own soul. He is a smile, full of cracks where life hit him hard. He is beauty in all its imperfect glory, forever to live in the myths and the fables.