A bottle of bleach, please.

Two types of addictive relationships.

One which gives you a buzz. This is the good one, comparatively. You have some fun. Noone gets hurt. And it gets over. Simply. Maybe not so simply. Sometimes you keep needing the high. You don’t know what makes it good, What makes it so much more fun. But you need it. If you’re unfortunate, you will never really realise that it’s a false high, and labour under the delusion that there might be something more underneath the purely physical. And, if you’re fortunate,you will labour under the delusion that one day, the need will simply go away. Either way, you drift until someone else takes the decision for you. It’s a sad kind of fun.

One which never really begins, never really ends. It’s the ex who keeps calling you, and getting you to say yes. It’s the friend whom you don’t really like anymore, but talk to anyway, because she knows too much about you. It’s the pair of jeans you keep taking out of the closet, and hoping that you would fit into this time.

All of them the same. Long lasting, frustating and barely worth the effort. No kind of fun at all.

That’s why the bleach.


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