How could something that felt so right actually be so wrong?

Things don’t get better just because you want them to.

It’s interesting how something that comes so easily to one person can be so impossible for someone else.

No one can save me except myself.

Maybe but... if being impulsive means ruining other people's lives, then maybe I should just stay the same.

Physical attraction that strong is addictive. And knowing that kind of magic isn’t just a fantasy makes me want to find it again. But what about being with someone who makes me a better person? What about sharing my life with someone who adores me as much as I adore him, whom I can always count on, who helps me find my way when I’m lost?

I just want to write. It's like once I get those obsessive thoughts out of my head, once they're written down, they're somehow set free and I can move on.