Hell is a blanket that will not keep you warm.
Hell is unrequited self-love.
Hell echoes like an empty mailbox on Valentine's Day.
Hell is winning the first baseball game of the season, and the last baseball game of the season, and every game in between.
Hell is the distance between yourself and other people.
The way to hell is paved with no intentions at all; we simply lay it one brick at a time, unthinking, on a long, steady, lonely slope that we tread our entire lives.