The first month, I vibrated out of my skin. I texted my ex. Twice. I cried in a Target parking lot because a stranger held the door for me and it felt like tenderness.
Each time, the same arc. Euphoria. Desperation. The sick, sweet ache of proving myself worthy. love junkie free read
So I did. I over-texted. I showed up at his work with his favorite sandwich. I laughed too loud at his half-hearted jokes. And when he finally looked at me again — really looked — the relief was so sharp it hurt. The first month, I vibrated out of my skin
Love junkies don't shoot up in alleys. We do it in candlelit bedrooms and coffee shop corners. We do it with poetry and promises and the way we tilt our heads when someone says I'm not ready for a relationship . We nod and say that's okay while inside we're already calculating how to make them ready. I cried in a Target parking lot because