When you try not to love someone, though your irises are fixed glassily as distant mist forests, you still curl into the crushed coastal waves of their skin, as if their body's hollows magnetically draw you in and their every breath fits your broken breathing---then you know you love them like crazy, like you can't resist the chemistry that is him.
Like,
like,
like you can't choose who you love, it just happens and despite all attempts to harden and contain, you soften in their bed: pliable, cuddly, sweet, infantile, sick. So sick that you need rehab to stop the fix. So sick that you must melt your own skin to stop it from soaking up that touch with such tingling euphoria.
