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Everyone has an obsession. Some people are obsessed with being too nice, too kind, too selfless. As Les Barbenell says, this kindness is often a mask, shielding deeper emotions of anger, guilt, or shame.
Others are obsessed with vices like alcohol, cigarettes, or cocaine. You might say there's a difference between a habit and an obsession. Actually, no. The line is so thin, you'd never know when a habit has crossed into obsession. When it becomes your need to stay alive.
Everyone is obsessed with finding a perfect future—a perfect career, a loving partner, a house, a car, and two kids. Blah, fucking blah. It's not just a want, it's an obsession. You need it to stamp your self-worth, to be happy.
Obsession starts with what you want and becomes a chase. Chasing dreams sounds romantic and poetic? Then why not chase your obsession? Because what if everything we feel is just a manifestation of our obsessions? What if none of our so-called emotions are real?
That's why I never give a fuck about them. My idea is simple: when I'm obsessed with something, I chase it and snatch it from the universe.
If you can be obsessed with the stupid idea of romanticizing life, why can't I be obsessed with my love? I don't want your big, fancy cars, houses, or money. I just want her. I need her to breathe. What's wrong with that?
People are often overwhelmed by their own biases and the simplicity of their emotions, but what I feel for her is anything but simple. Bringing her flowers isn't enough; I want to bring her butterflies, the ones she loves, but dead. Dead so they can never touch her skin. I don't want anything else to ever touch her but me.
I desire to grasp that delicate neck of hers, not to harm her, but to feel the power of possession. I want her to be mine in every sense, to the point where she forgets herself and becomes an extension of me.
I want her so intertwined with my existence that even the thought of another person or creature evokes a sense of betrayal. Every emotion she feels, from joy to anger, should be directed solely at me. No one else deserves her smiles, her rage, her empathy.
I will strip her of any feelings for anyone or anything else, moulding her into something solely for my satisfaction. Yet, she's not ready for this reality. She still yearns for the romantic façade, doing that's what it takes to be with her, then so be it.
I will suppress my deepest desires and present her with the rosy picture she wants. But make no mistake, I will not rest until she is wholly mine. In this life, she will be mine, or I will die trying.
It's been three days since that incident at her house, and I've been swamped with my new internship at this ridiculous firm that I'm dying to leave. I have zero interest in the mind-numbing tasks they assign me.
I’m meant for creative roles that would make a real impact on the company, not this glorified clerk's job. But I have to stick with it to impress her family. This is a multinational corporation with a substantial salary, and the international branches pay even more.
