I envy people who do not obsess about stuff

I love so that it hurts, stings in the depths of my heart and sends shivers through my body until it makes me all jittery and I can’t sleep, can’t breath, just repeat things in my head over and over again while dreaming and planning and longing for things that won’t happen. I don’t despise it like pain, but it doesn’t taste like happiness. And i wish that I could forget it, never have seen that read that or have those people in my life. Not because that’s what I actually want, but because then maybe I would have a bit more time to do things that make me happy in a way that doesn’t hurt, things that make me lightweight and helps me fly, while the love I feel now drags me to the bottom of needing and the darkest pits of I can’t focus on anything else. Passion is a mixture of just as much pain as there is happiness, just as much darkness as there is light, because it’s needed to create the contrasts that is that word and the world.

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