Obsession, Addiction, a fake and a poem (An old one back to 2010)

One way or another, I love you.

At least, I think I loved you by that moment.

But, what if, by any chances, it’s just my deceptive imagination.

It’s just my desire built by the lure of fantasy,

It’s just my curiosity polished by impulsion.

True,

I felt the tension as you did,

And I saw the light around you,

And I saw your lovely face drowned into the edge of light,
your eyes told me the sorrow as well as the joy you have ever tasted.

And I saw your body, surrounded by the sugary air, shaking.

That’s one night over thousands of nights.

I’m happy but afraid.

Is that the fucking true love or the desperate obsession?

Life makes its own hole far deeper than ideology, it’s the feeling
taught us the taste of love, it’s the past shaped our future and
it's the shadow nourished the beauty of light.

We managed our love so carefully, well prepared, perfectly arranged,
but all of the sudden, I cannot tell. Maybe that's the unbearable
lightness of being.

We stick to love in waiting of give up, so it’s not the problem of
how hard to persist, it’s the problem that whether it's worth to give up.

For the sorrow of love.

or life.