Drugs don’t have anything on the madness that is falling in love. It burns it chills it inflames. It is addictive, obsessive, consuming to the very last atom of your soul.

It drives people to hate to kill. It brings you to tears, to laughter, gives you a reason to live, it makes you want to die.

It is my worst addiction.

It drives me to change, to transform into what I think my love will like. It also makes me want to be my own person, the most stubborn individual on a lost point, fighting to the bitter end to keep what I think is my true self.

It makes me want to make dreams come true. Gives me the drive to bring them what they never thought possible to obtain. It also makes me complacent in the fact that there is no material thing that’d make up for being there.

I’ve yet to find a balance that is for this world, this plane, this dimension, would deem normal/allright/sane. This extremity of feeling and the actions that go along with it, borders on mental. It’d be like carrying on with a gorilla being fed with processed sugar. There is no middle. Way up high, or found down low.

It scares me to hell that I’m this way.

At the same time I can’t wait to crash and burn.