We live in a magical world. A world of illusions. With our heads firmly buried in the sand and a layer of dust in our eyes, we see what we want to. And it never is the truth. We want to believe in love and happy-endings.
Snap out of it. Wake up and smell the air. It is putrid. It stinks of lies and delusions.
There are no friends around you. We are all organisms controlled by the selfish genes in our bodies, trying to survive. Love does not exist. Love is the bunch of flowers that the magician pulls out of his sleeve; plastic, garish and cheap.