The Misplacement of Happiness

Is it easier to quit than it is to carry on?
Let happiness dictate what your decisions are built upon. It’s a concept that presents crunching fear, when misplaced it feels further out of reach than ever, potentially lost forever. I’d like to think anyone would fight for the chance to save it. But enduring recurring issues doesn’t establish rougher skin, it simply weathers the soul. The weight of regret from wasting love takes hold and eventually collapses upon you. There’s no evasion, it’s always crushing. But it’s the quickest way to deliver you from the absence, to that island paradise also known as acceptance. I got there but I didn’t unpack. I took another chance at love. 
And love punctually replied with the same answer for the second time, but this time accompanied by it’s benefactor trust. Turns out i had misplaced them both.  
So explain to me how a feeling so sharp and composed can create unparalleled collateral? 
My heart pounds at the thought with my headspace broken, grasping at straws. A scarcity of closure, there’s simply nothing at all. So I was forced to bury my memories and thoughts. Of us, from before. 
Yeah I’m still feeling defeated whilst this unrequited love still lingers. 
My broken state has found a new echelon of transparency and it’s easy to distinguish. Pretending was never a part of life’s equation for me. Instead It included misplacement, left exclusively equalling misery, but it doesn’t feel like a solution. It just wasn’t love, it was pain and all that remained was painfully nothing. So this is me bathing my wounds in salt. Afflicted and unrequited, my love rots. 
Dripped in alcohol and loss, my love rots. 
I’m exhausted from enduring everything I now perceive. When does living alone stop feeling like a false excuse for existing? I’m finished hiding behind emotional camouflage. What purpose is there in life if love can’t be rediscovered? So far this life has relinquished nothing I seek, only visions of fictitious dreams, yeah it’s an existence but it’s weak. 
Just like my eyesight, because I stared at the sun for too long as a kid. I guess I couldn’t anticipate the real monster at first but when It reveals itself it always damages and it always hurts. 
So once again I’m forced to accept these changes of circumstance. 
I’ve folded, mind, body and soul I’m convinced more than ever I’m defeated. What’s a heart for if it can’t be gifted? 
Some dreams aren’t worth holding onto. They’re just placeholders to help process current failures. But it’s only ever fiction. And I suppose some feelings will never be rediscovered, the misplacement of happiness should push you to reclaim it yourself, not borrow it from others. 
My love expired, fatally misplaced and with no reclamation I’m left dwelling within this empty space. 
So Is it easier to quit than it is to carry on? 
Or Is it easier to say 
“I love you.” 
than it is to say 
“I don’t.” ?