It is always like this, isn’t it? I come so close to forgetting about you, or at least telling myself I have, when you pop up again. You’re like a disease that can’t be cured and I am loving the misery that comes with it. I’ve always been a masochist, but who knew I would love the emotional pain as much as the physical. I never believed that the emotional wear and tear would be something I desired, but it has to be if I keep putting myself in this situation, doesn’t it? As much as I want to remove myself from this equation for the last time, I still long for you. I wish I could place my finger on it, I wish I could gauge it out of my body and throw it away for good. The reality is that even if this part of my life finally ended, whether tomorrow or in five years, I would just find someone else to go through this dance with.