You’re a heartbreaker, full of unfulfilled promises and broken dreams. But you know all too well that a single word, a single idea, a single spark of passion is all it takes to lure me back to you.
Every time I leave with a broken heart, desperately trying to pick up the pieces of a shattered life, you call to me like a siren, promising happiness, fulfillment, freedom. And every time you rely on empty words to draw me back into your volatility, I believe you, listening to the broken heart that so desperately longs to be soothed by the short-lived comfort of your embrace.
I constantly run back to you to re-experience the blissful high I can never seem to find anywhere else. You make my heart feel light, as if the weight of life is no match for the powerful passion we’ve kindled together. You make my soul feel free, as if, in our dysphoric utopia, I am always enough. But, behind your illusion of freedom, you enslave me, convincing me that nothing I say will ever be enough to make you stay.
Every time you break my heart, I fruitlessly attempt to convince myself that I’m better off without you. But, without fail, I relentlessly crave you as I crash down from the high I can only seem to find with you.
With tear-stained cheeks, I withdraw from you, vehemently swearing to never again return to your heartbreak. But, as I fervently attempt to remind myself of the beauty of self-reliance, I find myself itching to pour my heart out to you, to depend on you for my fulfillment. Every time you shatter me, I long to rediscover a sense of solace in you, even though I know your comfort is never guaranteed.
Even as my mind begs me to escape you, to run away and never look back, my heart sways me to run back to you. Every time you break my heart, I return to the alluring magnetism of our dysphoric utopia, hoping that maybe, just maybe, a single word, a single idea, a single spark of passion will heal my fractured soul.