You enriched my life.  Just having known you made me better, healed a part of me.  I came back to myself with you and your encouragement.   The rediscovery of my verve more than I imagined I had even lost.  Funny how we sometimes see ourselves though another’s eyes and the view though yours staggered me.  You sought me out without conscience thought.  You knew me from the start.  You helped me know myself again… 

And then you broke my heart! 

Well, that’s what I get for being a pack rat.  I save any little thing I write, sometimes even just ideas.  The consequence is the joy and pain of stumbling across a troublesome bit of debris like that one.  Honestly, it is exactly as I found it stuck in a file to finish later.  I guess I should have gotten back to it sooner.  It looks like it had some potential.  Oops!  On the other hand, maybe my muse is telling me something here.  The things we think, say, do and write when we are in “love.”   

“Love,” I know it’s a four-letter word and to be avoided.  Perhaps it would be better dealt with as a medical condition.  I find it akin to a diagnosable mental health issue, like addiction.  Its got to be testable with all the hormones, pheromones, endorphins and adrenaline that are running rampage through your body when you fall helplessly, hopelessly in love for even a moment.  I would think they could develop a shot, maybe a vaccine, then I wouldn’t have to worry about the havoc it wrecks in my life when I trip and fall in love. 

There is, of course, the flip side of that.  Maybe they should develop a drug that simulates the way “love” makes you feel.  You could make a fortune.  We all know there’s just about nothing that feels better.  “Love” can make you glow.  It can infuse you such that you emote it into your environment and spread it just by virtue of your existence.  I’d have to drink an awful lot to reach that floating through the world high that a small fix of “love” gives me.  Although, I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather endure a drunk hangover than a “love” hangover. 

Like any drug, “love” makes you do stupid things.  It messes with your brain chemistry and you make bad decisions.  The worst part is that you usually know it’s a poor choice when you make it, but the high is so good while you have it that you don’t think about the crash that waits for you when you are forced to come down or the consequences of your actions taken while in “love.”  I confess freely here that I have done innumerable idiotic things under the influence of “love.”  Far more than under the influence of anything else. 

The worst are the addictive “loves.” Its been my observation that the ones with a high degree of chemistry are the nastiest to get over.  Its like you have to kick that chemical habit along with healing your emotional wounds when it doesn’t work out.  When you have that obsession, that need to inflict more pain and suffering on yourself to have that cool high one more time even when you know it won’t work out with that person, there should be some kind of self-help group or rehab available.  Maybe even paid for by your medical insurance.  Now there’s an idea, “love” rehab clinics.  

Well, its good to be getting back to normal after that last ride on the “love” merry-go-round.  I’m sure its not over completely yet, but I’m progressing nicely through my detox.  I’m not sure how to affect any cure for “love” save time and someone to talk to that understands.  I’m still working on an effective counter-agent and just about everything else that has to do with “love.”  All I can really say for sure is . . . “love” is a drug I’m addicted to and I’m sure to go a few more rounds in the ring with “love” before I’m done.  I just can’t resist that high.

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