letter forty two

Dear Love,

I used to believe you were the foundation of true happiness, themeaning of life and existence. But when I sought you out, I did it not out of this theoretical conviction, but as a drug addict looking for a fix. But you were not a drug, I had once believed. Drugs give a temporary rush of pleasure followed by irreversible and destructive consequences accompanied with terrible addiction. You, on the other hand, are a substance that lifts, expands, and broadens the individual, with a rush that can last for all eternity if properly cared for. This is you, Love. The meaning and light of life.

I now see how naive I was, that my edenic mind was wrong; that you are the most dangerous and destructive drug in existence. Your affects are worse than even the most destructive and addictive chemical. Your destructive potency comes two fold. First, from the fact that you don’t destroy the body and mind like other drugs. You destroy the heart and soul of the individual. You lift someone so high, that when they fall, their destruction is more painful than any injury, more corrosive than any disease, and more maddening than any imbalance of chemicals. Second, you cannot be enjoyed alone. Two or more people must share you, Love, in order for someone to have you at all. And this is without a doubt the most terrifying fact of all. You are the warmest company and the greatest companion, but when the other decides she no longer wants you, or no longer feels you, or would rather share you with someone else, I am powerless to stop you from leaving. I am completely at your mercy. I am completely at her mercy. And the horror is that no matter how much I hold on to you, Love, the moment she withdraws it from me, I am left with nothing. No, I am left deficit.

But there is one similarity you have with other drugs, Love. You are addicting. Unrelentingly addicting. Even though you pulled yourself so suddenly from my desperate hands, leaving my heart completely and irrectifiably shattered, my soul woefully darkened, and my entire existence questioned, I still seek you out. I still want you, more than anything. I still want you, Love. Though my head begs me to retreat, there is no other replacement, no other form, that can possibly fill the void in my soul for love; no substance that can quench the urge, no argument that can stay the craving.

So I go on looking, seeking, reaching for you. Even before the scars on my heart can go from red to white, even before my soul can once again gasp fresh air, I reach for you, ready for you to destroy me, heart and soul, once again. I am a doomed addict. I am a mindless zombie. I am a broken slave. I am completely subjected to Love

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About danarose

Textbook ENFP, if you're into that stuff (I am SO into that stuff). I love mountains and the ocean and my largest ambition in life is getting all of the people I love to live on the same block, to cook dinner, and talk with them every night.
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