We obsess over people who don’t love us because we like how it stings. We love the pain because it makes us feel closer to the love we so dearly desire. If I really wanted to, I could get up and take on the world. But my inability to move from you is cowardliness disguised as “love”. Our definition remains a choice of words that we decide. It is not what we feel when we are with you, but without your company. Reaching out to a different flower wouldn’t be so wrong, for roses are pretty upon glance, but they impale you with painful songs. We become acquainted with what we’re familiar with and we never take any chances. The saddest part is that we’ve grown so used to ongoing heartache, that we don’t understand there is so much beyond that.
