This infatuation.
It’s warm. It feels.
It’s dopamine-producing and adrenaline-consuming scary.
These flutters of my heart, they’re real because they’re reflected in the shortness of my breath.
How intense. How stupid.
I always scroll a bit faster when I see her face on my news feed.
It’s like I miss her when I see those doppelganger pixels.
Someone needs to be there first for another to miss them, right?
This is clearly unhealthy.
I could contain this creation by harbouring it deep in my heart.
Never breathing it to life with words.
But this fluttering. This shortness of breath.
Intense. Stupid.
Let’s kill it instead.
How?
Admit it.