I wanted to be happy but it seemed as though I was addicted to things that hurt me. Maybe I was drawn to the instability, the angry debates and the yearning in between before finally making up. I was fucked up.
I was in the midst of love, a passionate love - then all of a sudden it's cut off and it feels like I was falling from the sky. I became delirious. My source of oxygen was cut and I was grasping for air, a life line. My line of drug has been cut, but the addiction was still there. As time went by, I went into a relapse.
It took me a long time but I became better. I don't seek for the feeling the drug gave by seeking other drugs. Instead I remained abstinent. Learning about life and its' other wonders and that's when I fell in love with life and myself. That is when I learned. There are times when I look back upon the past. I see your face, hear our laughs and promises as tears roll down my face. Why did I tear up, why am I drawn to this piece from the past? I don't know. Perhaps because it contains all the hope I had and now it's gone.
My addiction is gone. There are times when I would be tempted but of course I resist. The dealer doesn't want to deal with me and the drug's effect would not be the same as it was before. You were my addiction, and I was the addict.
That's okay with me.