Like a moth to the flame, burned by the fire. My love is blind, can't you see my desire?
I wish I didn't have to delete the messages. I continuously delete everything, from my phone, my computer; I can't leave a trail. No one can know. The thought of the pain it would inflict if this was discovered is just... unbearable. Yet clearly not unbearable enough to make me stop.
You've gone cold. And I have no messages to remind me of when you were hot, to reassure me that it wasn't all in my head. That I didn't imagine it. Did I imagine it? Did I imagine that you told me that after all of this time I was still amazing, still beautiful, still infectious?
I don't know how we got here again. I tell myself that it was an innocent gesture, a simple hello, but deep down I know that I'm lying. I wanted to feel like that again. No one ever made me feel the way you did. The way you look at me. The way you laugh at me. The way you make me feel like I am absolutely perfect the way I am, like I'm the only girl in the world.
I don't know what triggered it. I've longed to see you again for the past 8 years, and fought with every fibre of my being to resist it. I guess something finally wore me down, though what that was, I'm not sure I'll ever know. When you responded to my attempt at reaching out with awe and elation, I felt like all of my Christmases had come at once. And now you've switched off, and I feel like my world has fallen apart. Two weeks. That was all it took this time for the walls to come crashing down and for me to plummet into darkness. And you wonder why I say it would never last between us. As I said, that much passion can't be good.
Since you won't tell me what's changed, I can only hypothesize. When we met last week you told me I was dangerous... You told me, while your arms were wrapped tight around me, your hand up the back of my dress and your face buried in my hair, that it still felt the same, just like it did back then. So I wonder, do you still feel it, just like I do? Is that why you've gone cold? Because you remember how much it hurt when we ended it before? Are you afraid of feeling like that again?
Then the paranoia sets in. Have you gone cold because you think I've changed? Because you don't feel it? Did I do something wrong?
The rational side of me knows that the most logical explanation is that you know we're playing with fire. But you, you are just addictive. You are my cocaine. And the highest of high, while I'm living it, makes the resulting low feel so worth it.
I've waited this long Eden, I can keep waiting.