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because you ARE my drug. and my high school English teacher was right, drugs DO destroy dreams.
i experienced withdrawals from you. i have cravings. i wonder if it was really so bad. i rewrite history so that i remember you with rose colored glasses.
and then it passes. and i look at some of the things i wrote to myself when it was really bad. writing things down so you couldn’t confuse me back to you.
i’m glad i’m not using. every part of my life is better without you in it.
and still, as they say, if cocaine is a helluva drug, it has nothing on you.
i’m allowed to miss you, really and truly. i fight calling you. daily. still. after all this time. i accept i might always feel this way. i imagine addicts accept it too.
my favorite drug just happens to be you. and i’m not going anywhere near it. a relapse would be the last of me.
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