Can't help.

Did you know that it only takes 21 days to form a habit?

 That means in 21 regular, seemingly normal days of your life you can start to cut yourself.

Or starve yourself on the daily. 

Or maybe even learn to hate yourself automatically.

 Most habits formed by teens ‘now-a-days’ are absolutely dreadful. Heart wrenching. Then again, there are also the people like me. They form habits around the most addicting of all drugs, along with the other shit. Love. It’s not that it is physically harming at first glance. It’s that of and emotional habit. There are instances where it takes a harder, larger toll than any drug could. In my life, be it short, I’ve seen so many different types of love. I used to think there was only one type of love. Love was love. Yes, but there’s love for an object, materialistic, love for a friend, friendliness, or love for family, that is, quite frankly, forced. These are absolutely lovely, yes, but they mean absolutely nothing. Yes, I mean that. They are in no comparison to that of love out of habit.

Love out of habit is like no other.

It is never guaranteed that we will eventually meet it.

You see, love of habit has taken over my body.

The drug of love is abundant in me and there isn't a sober vein in my body.

            Five years ago I was dragged into the abyss that is my addiction. My addiction to the love that was built. The love that fell. Although, the peaks and troughs and phases of this kind of love mean nothing. 

Love of habit must be mutual in some way.

It will always be good enough, even in the most trying times. It will never downgrade in value. Love of habit is that of need and want. That of a, very cliché, ‘forever.’

            There is no leaving your habit. There is no going back once you've happened to succumb to your addiction. There is no feeling like that of curbing your life to fit your addiction in.  The only problem with love is that it puts you in a trance.  That of a dream.

            As children we are taught to “chase our dreams,” although, as we mature, “sleep is for the weak,” no? No, wrong. Sleep is for the dreamers, and my darling, love is the biggest dream of all in my book.

            Maybe that just so happens to be why I always feel so sleepy in your metaphorical arms.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                        f.j.e.