how is it possible that I miss the memories more than

the person who helped me make them?

why is it that whenever I read or think back of the

“good old times”, I cannot help but smile and let out

a sigh full of yearning and desire?

the emotions I feel grows within the pit of my stomach,

and it expands exponentially until every single cell

in my body is burning up with the rawness and the

intensity of it.

nothing can satisfy this craving.

no matter what I do, no matter how much I try to

repress it, the fervor, the utter need of it comes back

time and again, making me its slave.

the miserable part of it all is that I actually enjoy being

under its spell.

I love the feeling it brings me;

the demanding pressure of it, building up inside of me.

knowing I can never fully satisfy, I caress it and play with it,

knowing I am completely under its control.

I let down my inhibitions and give it permission to dominate me.

maybe that is the answer.

I am used to always being in control, never faltering on the

strict rules I have set out for myself. the temptation of

recklessness is a breathe of fresh air. it brings the life and

color back to my otherwise dull face. it makes my heart skip

a beat or two.

such a shame…that this is the way I find a thrill…

the cost of it is beyond what I can afford.

how do I stop it though?

how will I ever put an end to this masochistic tendency

of mine?