There are people who are drawn on your soul and show up as lines on your hand. Those without whom you cannot breathe, those who take you without a trace, and you take them. And for some reason, it's with them that you can't plan anything, but you can get into bloody rivers and bone banks, into cinders, horror, shit, and frayed nerves. Into vodka-infused antidepressants. In the threats of suicide, the distrust, the spying, the imposition of total control over one's identity, and the endless moral and sometimes physical abuse of one another.

But in those rare moments when the storms subside and you cling to each other like frightened children, when your hearts beat in tune when you whisper as in a delirium "I will never give you up"... That is when you realize that it was worth it all, and this person is your guiding star, your salvation, your soul mate, what gives it all meaning...

And then you are thrown back into the abyss of despair.

Why is it never easy with Them? Why is it that the strongest and scorching love is always about mangled souls and aortic ruptures?

Because it's not fucking love. It's a drug addiction with all its forms of personality disintegration and unprecedented urges.

You're rocking your reward system in exactly the same way, riding the roller coaster between total despair and unprecedented bliss. The other person has nothing to do with it. He can be anything and everything, but to your slightly dislocated roof, he will seem to be the most beautiful, and most importantly, the person you need most on earth. The one shared with your soul. This is a real addiction.