#drewbarrymore **Title: Never Been L uv ED** In a world where love seems like a distant dream, I, a self-proclaimed cynic, found myself sitting in my cluttered apartment, staring at my typewriter. The keys had become my only companions, and the paper held my confessions, my hopes, and my undying love for... well, let’s just call him “Mr. Right.” You see, like a character from a rom-com, I had never been truly loved. Sure, there were fleeting moments—awkward dates with men who were more interested in their phones than in me, or women who seemed to be more about the thrill of the chase than the joy of companionship. My experiences had been akin to a bad reality show, where the contestants were elite power players who had no qualms about using me as a pawn in their game. But today, as I prepared to write what could be my most important article yet, I felt a spark of defiance. I was going to apologize. I was going to confess my love, and I was going to do it with a sprinkle of humor to lighten the weight of my words. “Dear Mr. Right,” I began, tapping the keys with a mix of trepidation and excitement. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve crossed paths, and I apologize for my absence. Life has a funny way of throwing curveballs—like the time I walked barefoot down the street, pregnant not by love, but by hands unkind. I mean, who knew that ‘being caught off guard’ could be so literal?” I chuckled to myself, envisioning the absurdity of my life. “I’ve waited my entire existence for someone to grow a conscience, yet here I am, still waiting. Happy Independence Day to me! I’m declaring my freedom from heartache and bad dates. I won't fight, because that’s what they want. Instead, I’ll just sit here, sipping my lukewarm coffee, typing my truth.” I continued, “You see, love shouldn’t feel like an Olympic sport. It shouldn’t require a training montage or a personal coach. It should be simple, like a Sunday morning with pancakes and laughter, not a high-stakes game where I’m left to fend for myself against the elite. I’m done being a pawn—I’m ready to be a queen.” As I finished the article, I felt lighter. Perhaps humor was the key to unraveling the sadness that had woven itself into my life. “So here’s my confession: I’ve never been loved, but I refuse to let that define me. I’m stubborn, and my love can’t die. I’ll wait right here until the world makes it right, but until then, I’ll keep writing. Because if nothing else, I’ve learned that laughter is