She has become the madness that gnaws at the edges of my sanity, a poison I drink willingly, knowing it will devour me whole. Every thought, every breath, every flicker of desire is chained to her, and no matter how I try, I cannot break free. She seeps into my veins like fire, burning through the fragile limits of reason, turning want into need and need into obsession. I imagine her presence surrounding me, haunting me, as though she owns the very air I breathe. It isn’t love—it’s something far more terrifying, a hunger that twists into possession, a longing that wants not just to hold her, but to consume her, to erase the line between where she ends and I begin. The world feels hollow without her shadow cast across it, and the silence between her imagined whispers is unbearable. This obsession is not a choice—it is a curse, a dark pulse that has rooted itself deep within me, and it grows, louder, stronger, more unhinged with every beat of my heart.