Limerence

Love and limerence often take up the same space in my mind.

You will often find me confusing heartfelt notions with a form of poetic suicide. I'm sorry I took you in intervals like a pill to cure my aching desires, dropped you when I felt better or when someone else could get me higher.

Living for the mistakes of young love, sipping bitter memories like cyanide. I thought you could do no wrong and I would have preached that until the day I died. Waited everyday for some sign that the thoughts that kept popping up were a blossoming sign of newfound peace. I guess I didn't wait long enough before celebrating the unfortunate death of you and me. 

I still think of you in a way that I find to be ironic, I was wishing the world for you just to switch to something a little bit more than toxic. I guess I could see the patterns in behavior from more than a mile away, I was waiting for the moment that you would finally get on your knees and beg me to stay. My heart is in the stories written by authors with perfectly built worlds, where friends stay and limerence means I feel this way forever and not just when your body is tear-impearled.