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My Addiction

Not One of a Substance. But a Living, Breathing Human Being

Tall and Built. Kind brown eyes. Hands of a worker. But I suppose they’re not in the sense that you’re thinking. Maybe I should say... “restless hands,” always ready for what’s next. He can’t just be in the moment — way too worried about what he might miss out on. 

But, when he calls me up at 3 o’clock on a Sunday morning, after a night out and he’s all drunken and honest... I can’t help but fall for him all over again. 

I feel as though I finally get to speak to him. No longer is he debating on what he’s doing next, but he’s in the same universal time frame as I. 

As 4 o’clock rolls around, his so-called “love” for me almost seems real. 

I always get my hopes up with him, hoping I might be lucky enough for him to let me in. But, after daydreaming about the impossible, I realize I’ll just be let down time and time again. And that’s the sad part about it all. I don’t care. He could do me so wrong, and I’d probably still let him waltz right back into my life. Call me up at ridiculous hours of the night just to talk and obsess over him. 

I suppose I’m just curious. 

He’s such a mysterious being that holds so many secrets in these chambers we, as humans, tend to call hearts. It’s no longer just a crush for me I feel... At some points in the night, when his name doesn’t light my phone screen or he doesn’t flirt with me, I feel as though I go through withdrawals — periods on mania when he juggles my heart like it’s not made of the finest crystal known to man kind. 

He’s parallel to a damn addiction. In a sense, we could call him... my addiction  

Regardless of how many times he tells me I’m better off without him or I’ll find someone much better, I just can’t help but focus on what could be. I think of all the things he tells me when the smell of whiskey and coke dance upon his breath and that’s that. I’m dead set. My mind doesn’t have a switch to fiddle with when it comes to him. 

What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic. 

There’s a slight age gap between the two of us, but we just connect so well, in a way I’ve never experienced before. 

Not only physically, but mentally as well. Mentally, he doesn’t hesitate on carrying elevated conversations with me. It’s almost as if our age gap doesn’t even exist. Physically, it’s like the Grand Finale on the Fourth of July every damn time we glance at each other, whether we’ve simply spotted one another from across the room or if we’re face to face. When our lips touch, I feel as though electricity flows out of his veins straight into mine. 

I just don’t know...

I want nothing more than to un-love him, because I know he’s no good for me. But wanting him is inevitable. I feel as though he’s a part of me now. And he tells me I’ll find someone better, but, oh my stubborn heart... it’s set on him.