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Ours is not a love story—we’re too volatile, too explosive for monotony. No, our story comes with a warning. Beware.
“None of us are powerless. Choice is the most powerful thing in this world. Everyone has a choice.”
He’s free in a way that most people only dream—a dark and unforgiving dream where the rules don’t apply.
Change is the one constant you can depend on. You either adapt or you don’t.
Our minds are so powerful, constructing connections and feelings to a single occurrence, turning something considerably insignificant into a meaningful moment.
Regardless of my understanding of the mind’s tricks, curiosity is still a powerful tool.
Like so many untraveled highways, the love and empathy road has been an infrequent path for the neurons in my mind. If you don’t nurture a thing, it dies. I was born with the ability, like every other human is born with the ability to feel, empathize, love—only I was never required to exercise these emotions. They’re weak and neglected.
My own design of love may be a twisted creature, but that creature is hungry and demands to be fed.
Be wary of people who compliment too soon, before they even know you—they’re lowering your defenses in preparation for the strike.
“This is so much more than madness. This is what obsession does to a person.” I swallow hard. “Believe me, I have tried every way to get you out of my system, out of my head… I can’t. I’m only trying to make sense of the nonsense. We’re connected, and we belong together. I’m already a dead man. So if I die in pursuit to obtain the unattainable…then that’s a death I can honor.”
She is my salvation. And I am her long-awaited consequence.
I can feel him in my veins. He’s poison in my blood. I’m drunk on him.
“You’ve been screaming into the void, demanding your answer, and the void heard you. This is predestined.”
“I love everything about you—even your sickness. It turns me on and drives me mad. The bad things you’ve done. I should despise what you are, but you caught me in your web, and I’m begging you to bleed me dry, that’s how twisted you got me.”
Solitude reveals who we are. Isolation is not loneliness; it’s the absence of noise and distraction. It forces you to acknowledge your worth. If you must surround yourself with people, you invite distractions from the one person deserving of your time: you.
being with him…that fire so tempting…I crave that bad thing. I hunger for him. It’s like a drug habit you can’t shake.
“The feeling, the emotion we call love is only a chemical in the brain. A chemical we never had access to, but does that mean we’re fiends?”
“Do we love each other, or are we merely crazy for each other? I know I’m crazy—maddeningly crazy for you. Obsession is a far more evocative emotion than love.”
“I am sick. I’m lovesick. But all love is a sickness.
That kind of love can’t be sustained. It’s wild and passionate and consumes you like a wildfire tears through a forest, burning hotter and raging rampant until its only option is to die out.
Real love—the one not spewed in poetry—is agony. It tears at your soul, strips you bare, drives you mad and demands the veracity of our existence. Love is madness.
