I loved you once, and you betrayed me. I gave you a second chance and you chose to betray me again.
Why do you think I would ever love you again?
Loving you is like moving your fingers towards the spines of a cactus: the first time you did you pinched yourself and it hurt for a few seconds, but you could bear the pain.
The second time you did, you thought that it wouldn’t hurt as much as the first time, so you pressed your fingers harder than last time against the spines and you wounded yourself.
You wouldn’t think of getting your fingers close for a third time because, you know that if you do, the wound would grow deeper and even though you like the sensation of pain, it would take some time to heal or maybe it would never get to heal.
Why would you believe that I’d have the stupid idea to ever love you again?