You don’t need them. It’s that simple. But for some reason it’s complex. It’s difficult. It’s dangerous. We can’t seem to fathom it.

I loved everything to anything to everyone who surrounded him. He was perfect. A delusion with a sweet melancholy taste. He was crazy, but he was my crazy and inside, everything felt right.

It was perfect, but perfection is terrifying.

Loving you was hard, wanting you was harder, but kissing your forehead was insanity.

You’re not supposed to be in a relationship because it’s comfortable, it’s supposed to be because they make you a better person.

I loved him to death. Then I came to realization with how arrogant he was and instead of falling out of love, I fell harder. Every passing day I fell a little harder, a little faster, and a little sadder. I became anxious, obsessive, hurt, and sad. But one morning I awoke to realize I fell out of it. I loved him. I still do. But I was in love with him until the death of the relationship. Now I just love him. From afar. From the knowledge. From the happiness an individual gave me.

Some fake happiness, some fake sadness and some fake an orgasm.

Eventually I’ll stop writing about you and it’ll be bittersweet. Not because I’m not in love with you, but because I’ll just love you.

I realized I loved him after everything went wrong so I wallowed in self-pity and prayed I could wake up.