I’m infatuated easily, too easily. I love the rush that happens almost instantly. I crave the instant physical and emotional attraction with crazy emotion involved. I love that it’s quick; an obsession that you know will soon die out. It will only occupy your mind a certain amount. It keeps things interesting; it brings out different parts of you. It teaches you about yourself a little more, it helps you realize what makes you feel alive.
Infatuation is shallow, while love is deep. It’s not serious; it’s more fun like flirting with temptation, it becomes sort of a new guilty pleasure for a period of time. It’s having your mind completely consumed with something or someone new. It’s just the idea of being in love with an idea of something or someone, rather than actually being in love.
You just want as much as you can have and then to walk away, feeling satisfied, but unbroken.
I became infatuated with you; it was never more than that. I had a burning craving for you inside me, but it soon died out like the last flicker of a candle in a dark room. You were all I thought about, you consumed me. You made everything else irrelevant; I wanted to be with you always. I wanted to talk to you and touch you and feel you. My infatuation with you grew with desire; it was delusional. It was loud and undefined; your name came out of my mouth like word vomit I couldn’t control. Then just like a typical infatuation, it was gone. My infatuation left unannounced and I became infatuated with something new.
I became infatuated with places. Places I’ve never been, but only seen pictures of. I became obsessed with the idea of going there. I imagined the food, the people, the mountains and the beaches. I imagined the view and the air.
I convinced myself my life would be so much better, so much more fulfilling if I just went there and left everything behind it.
Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn’t, I might never know.
I became an infatuation with my favorite restaurant. Always craving it, always ordering the same thing. I always needed it I told myself, even when I didn’t. Even when I wasn’t hungry, I just wanted it because it sounded good. It was an urge I couldn’t satisfy any other way. That’s the thing about infatuation, no matter what it’s with no one or nothing else can satisfy the desire you have in you for whatever you’re yearning for.
The cycle begins again, with a new person, a new place, or a new restaurant.
It’s a never-ending cycle of looking for something and someone to fill the void of happiness we all seem to be searching for.
But infatuation is selfish; all we’re doing is only trying to please ourselves for a certain period of time. We don’t care much about what is on the other end or who might get hurt, because we want ultimately want to feel satisfied. We just drop it; no longer wanting whatever it is. You leave it to be washed away and picked up by someone new, whoever is looking for the next piece of them, where you couldn’t find yourself.
I’m in love with infatuation because the pleasure it fills me with. Always growing, always learning, always feeling completely satisfied with life one way or another. I love being infatuated with different parts of my life, always, because in this life there are a million and one things to fall in love with every day. Why not take advantage of that?