I start to type and then backspace when I feel like the meaning of the sentence is not going in the direction I intended it to. I firmly believe that words, whether spoken or written, should have meaning behind them. I truly feel that people should hold their tongues more. If people were as careless as you with their words, the world would be a much unhappier place than it already is.

It's here again. I start to welcome that feeling like a cold, familiar friend. The old friend that you intensely dislike but know so well. It starts slowly. One tiny comment that sets me off, I'm not angry or sad but I let it eat away at me till it conquers me. I change. I find it addictive to infect him with my unhappiness. Whether it was his intention to make me angry does not matter. All I want to do is to make someone feel as terrible as I do, in this moment.

It's 3am and I'm starting to question why I even need sleep like everrrr.

It's at this timing that I usually start to get weird thoughts. I get sad that I can't listen to and appreciate every good song that's ever been made out there. Now I'm thinking about how many songs I have committed to memory. Is there an infinite space for memories that we keep?

Stop thinking, Jasmine.

It's gone and made me sad. I was angry that I could ever give that much of myself to anyone. In the beginning, I was wishing and praying so hard for at least some sense of control over my feelings. It was like someone had tossed me into the ocean and I was just thrashing about in the waves, moved by the current against my will while I'm trying to find something to hold onto. All I wanted to do was think of you a little less. Sometimes it felt like I was going insane. I saw you in my head too much, too often. I needed just a bit of sanity to hold on to but it never came. Slowly, I let myself dissolve into you, let myself drown in those emotions. You told me it was okay.

It's starting to wane away, that insanity. Passion. Lust. Lunacy. Whatever you want to call it, I feel it going away, like the fading light when night comes. Which is not to say that I don't love you anymore. It's going to be okay in the end, I believe in that whole-heartedly. All I'm doing now is waiting, waiting for that storm to come. As scary as it sounds, I want to feel unhinged and demented in love again.

Life has made me into a cynic. It gave me a wicked, twisted sense of love.

"Love is patient. Love is kind."

No one says love is terrible. But it is. It's crazy. It's letting go. Trusting someone so much that they can do whatever they want with your feelings. They twist and tug and you're hurt but you don't feel the pain, just cause you're so into them. Everything they do feels good. No one tells you that love can turn you into a monster. It makes you conflicted, wondering why someone you've given your heart to can still rip into you like the caustic words of your worst enemy. You wonder why they cause the greatest harm, the deepest scars, when they're supposed to make you happy. Love is ugly. It's us being the absolute worst version of ourselves but still being loved by someone because they remember that you're actually pretty awesome most of the time. Love is fear. Worrying if you're enough, if you keep them happy, if they want more or if they want something different. It's terrifying.

And I'm not talking about crushes, by the way.

Love is the mutual understanding that you care deeply for each other. It's the stories from your childhood that you told him. Like the time that your uncle called you fat when you were 11 and you just ran into the room crying. It's the moment that you clear the lump in your throat, take a deep breath and spill your secrets. It's the warmth you get when he takes your hand when it's cold. It's their scent. It's recognising the different kinds of smiles they have. It's prodding them when they're sad and need someone to ask them if they're alright so it won't seem like they're burdening you with their problems. It's seeing the physical part of them melt away until all you see is goodness on the inside. Love is knowing that there are a million ways to tell someone you love them. It's when you press your faces together, so close that the other person becomes a blur of colours and you can't focus on anyone part of them. All you can do is feel their closeness.

It's a whole spectrum of emotions. It's imperfect and flawed because humans love and humans are imperfect and flawed. Love is something that I don't want to think about anymore. It's burnt up my last brain cell and I'm so goddamn tired from thinking, being sad, wanting to cry and typing all this out. Hell knows if it even makes sense to anyone at all.

It's so late/early that I can hear birds outside the window.