I’m tired. I have things to do rather than sit around and wait for the call that never comes, only to listen to more lies. Lies that are meant to coax and humour. Lies that have the total opposite effect. But still. Like a drug, it hooks you. Infatuation is a dangerous word, and obsession a deadly one. It’s like keeping from reaching from another cigarette from the packet. The temptation is huge, you know you’re just killing yourself one cigarette at a time. But you still do it because you’re addicted. To the supposedly wondrous high feeling that just makes you feel cheap after. Like a used fifty-dollar whore. Like a hungover drunkard with shady images of the night before.

Enough is enough. Damn, times like this, even Kungfu Panda can speak to you. Just because you’re too shitted up caught in your own world that you fail to wake and let the fresh air bring you to your senses. To let the cold turkey wake you from your misery. You know you’re in a bottomless abyss, and yet you’d rather keep on falling. Only to hit the cold, hard ground, headfirst.

By then, you’ve already suffered a serious concussion, with cuts on your face and a broken neck. Still you would willingly do it all over again, in hopes that all this giving will finally lead somewhere. It’s not the first time, and every time you tell yourself it’s the last. It’s the last cigarette I’ll ever touch. It’s the last drink of alcohol for me. It’s the last lie I’ll believe. And it never is.

You’d give up your job, opportunities, advancement chances in a heartbeat just to be with your sweetheart. Not to mention money, time, effort spent on making him or her happy. Love makes one lose sight of their senses willingly. Others may call that stupid, but when you’re in the thick of it, nothing is. Nothing is when you’re blinded by this overwhelming sensation of love just swelling and bursting out from your chest. People addicted to say, coke, give up their entire family fortune for gram after gram of this heavenly substance. Resort to stealing and abandoning any shred of moral fibre they once possessed. Obsession is a fatal word indeed. Is is stupid, or is it love?  Yet would you be with someone just because they can help you climb the corporate ladder? Tonnes of people are willing to do anything to make their mark, even if it means sacrificing their true happiness. Call it a priority of importance.

History teaches us about great dead men, their triumphs, glories and their mistakes. Some people might think, what a hero; to have loved and lost and lived, to have caroused and celebrated and cried. But where does it go in the end? What happened to the words you uttered, what happened to the love you gave, what happened to the dreams you had? In the end you become emptier yet chock-full of secrets that you cannot tell, you become wiser yet wisen, more experienced yet more miserable than you have ever been. One would think that one would learn from his mistakes. Yet why does history keep repeating itself? Some irreparable genetic attribute and characteristic of humans, perhaps. Which is why we choose to love, knowing fully well we will get hurt, and yet choose it all over again after we barely heal.

What happens to those who do learn? They close themselves up and dare not love, dare not subject themselves to vulnerabilities, dare not take another plunge into the dark hole of blackness. In the end, they shrivel up and harden, trying to be as inconspicuous as they can. Wise, cowardly, or just plain sad? It’s not for any of us to judge. They simply have a need to protect their hearts from being mercilessly ripped to pieces.