Where do I begin, to tell the story of how great a love can be... the sweet love story that is older than the sea... the simple truth about the love she brings to me... where do I start...

This. I crave this. I always wanted this. I romanticised this, since the time I could understand how to romanticise anything (if at all). 

But I cannot "understand" it. I cannot live it. I cannot give "her" the pleasure of feeling this (well, perpetually). 

Just as I start to believe it... I start to wonder - what's the bloody point. Which leads me to believe, what is this feeling in the first place. How real is this? Who am I lying to? Me first. And then eventually, I realise, DAMN! I'm ruining the life of the person who I'm with - no matter how much she says she gets this supposed disorder and my erratic behaviour - but damn! I'm still chipping away at her symbiotic self. 

Not fair. She'd argue. I'm here for you... She'd fester. But little she realises, she's being stripped off, in every minuscule of a moment as she attempts to support. 

They think they're above us.
They think they're supportive.
They think they're better.
They think they've got it all sorted.
They think they're relevant in this world.

Well, in support of everyone here - I'm here to say, I think we suffer and at the same time, hold our heads up high - coz we empathise to a level that "they" cannot fathom. They "think" they do... But they are not even closely capable of emotionally grasping the depth of resonance we can stitch together in situations, in our hearts. 

We persist. 

We try to find a middle ground. 

Therapy.

Reddit.

Support groups.

But we're not bad people.

We're just a little too entwined.

In our own way, we're still "relevant"!