HIS OBSESSION

His obsession was a fire that never slept. It lived in the spaces between his thoughts, crept into his dreams, and whispered its name in the silence between heartbeats. No matter where he went or what he did, it followed - a shadow too close to be escaped, a hunger too deep to be starved. People talked to him, smiled at him, passed him by, but he hardly noticed. His mind was elsewhere - always elsewhere - circling that one thought, that one person, that one thing he could never quite have, never quite let go of.
It began as curiosity, a harmless spark, something he could control. Or so he thought. But soon, the lines blurred between interest and need. He started rearranging his days around it, skipping meals, skipping sleep, skipping life. His obsession wasn't just a thought anymore - it was a ritual. He checked his phone a hundred times an hour. He kept notes, screenshots, dates, times. He memorized patterns, voices, words. Every detail was a thread he wove into a tapestry of longing and madness.
He lied to himself, told himself he was just passionate, just dedicated, just focused. But deep down, he knew. It was toxic. It was devouring him from the inside out. Friends began to pull away, concerned and confused. He didn't care. Their voices were background noise. Only the obsession mattered now. Only that perfect, unreachable thing that made his blood rush and his chest tighten. He would do anything for it. He had done things. Things he wouldn't admit to anyone. Not even himself.
And yet, he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. Because for all the damage it did, his obsession gave him purpose. In a life otherwise gray and aimless, it was the one thing that burned bright. It made him feel alive - even if it was killing him.