I always told myself growing up that I was immune to addiction. That I wouldn't find myself craving something indescribably. But it began when I met him and it wasn't the puff of a burning cigarette on a cold lonely night or the alcohol rushing down my throat as I try and hold it down but soon find myself incapable of that in the morning. My addiction was the taste of his soft lips that gently pressed against mine and in a way that stung. My addiction often became worse at night when my head would race than soon my heart and I would wait to see which crossed the finish line first. Id wake up in a panic as though the monsters in my head were real dragging me by my feet into the unknown. This is when I crave his body against mine not in pleasure but his presence always seems necessary. I needed the silence of the room with only his heart beat creating a sound that calms me the way a cigarette would. I needed the feeling of his arms around me holding on like a broken girl refusing to erase any memory. But with this addiction I knew the moment he leaned in to kiss me I was screwed.