ad·dic·tion

     ——the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.

My addiction is love. I can’t get enough of it. When I have it, there’s no better feeling that can overcome me. The grass is greener, the music is louder, the tastes are sweeter. I radiate in the night like the sun during an Alaskan summer; my light never dims. Stride, glide, and sway; my hips, long, powerful legs; take me to & fro his love then back again. Love is my fuel. The feeling of my skin against his, rubbing and caressing, can be felt days after contact is made. Body shudders at the thought, legs tremble, stomach flutters. Shortness of breath, the overpour of emotion, the night; it rushes me without warning & I relive a memory still in the making. Moments never last long enough. When it’s taken away from me, my world shatters…into so many little pieces. My breathing becomes strained, the minutes drag on; never-ending…five minutes feels like five hours. I shake, the tears form but never fall; torture. Concentration is less than a word for my mind is distracted by my heart’s pain. I scream, tear at my skin, pull at my hair, burrow my face in pillows filled with feathers. Yet i lift my head and I feel a sensation of being scratched hundreds of times by sharp freshly broken glass pieces. The burning is that of the fiery pain that encapsulates my soul, the anguish, the overwhelming pain in the form of a relentless and forced effort to let the tears fall; have the hurt escape my body. Staining my smooth carmel complexion, these tears are made of that and so much more. I let them cascade as I grip at the sheets in frustration but quickly loosen my hold.

It’s reminiscent of the long passionate nights we shared together; trying to endure his pain, I curl my hands inadvertently grabbing the sheets.

Any and every action I take reminds me of him only causing more sorrow. I lay motionless in the same bed whence was abundant with movement just nights before. Drained of energy, this time for different reasons, helpless I stare at the ceiling. Yet with every breath I inhale, as the oxygen flows through my veins, it feels like acid coursing through my body. I want to die. Void, empty, unfulfilled, absent. Without love, I am but a shell. It makes me; builds me up, causes my hips to move to the beat of any song. In that same breath I am able to admit that it breaks me more fiercely. The clouds aren’t grey, they’re black, the skies no longer dark but dismal. An overshadowing of the end of times. My heart doesn’t just break it shatters. And so that you know, my heart doesn’t just love, it consumes.

Briana Lynn