what we had was dangerous.
the feeling you get when you walk into a dark alley looking for a high. your vision is imparied by the dim lights and the narrow space gives the illusion that you're in a tunnel. the feeling in the pit of your stomach is rushing to your head, giving you the impression that you're already jacked. you believe you'll find what you're looking for at the end, and that it will make you incredibly happy. or at least give you the illusion that that is your reality.
the lines started to blur between illusion and reality. what I thought was real, wasn't, and what I thought was illusion, was, terrifyingly real. our love was like a drug - making me feel good, but knowingly temporary. i thought i could distance myself from the addictive properties. i thought i was always detached from it fully-- always having a backup plan so my lows weren't so, well, low.
so why i'm I still thinking about it two years later?
beacause I always knew, always felt, that we had something different, something that was literally too good to really exist. and when we discovered it did, it was terrifying. like seeing the vortex of a tornado. powerfully beautiful. and it destroyed us. it still destroys me.
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