by Sofie Fowler
I found this in a notebook from a few years ago. I was drunk (you should see my handwriting), and appear to be moving through the angry with men, into the glum self doubt stages of my drunkenness.
Do we love or do we become obsessed? Are we in love or are we in lust, infatuated? Have we found the one or is it just romance?
Do I love you or do I think I do? It’s all in my imagination, my brain chemistry. Everything I whisper to you is just neurones.
I feel, but is it real? Everything I want is the image of my beliefs. No difference. Is there a difference between us?
Is it love, or is it an obsession? Do we want what we seek? How to draw a line between need and want.
If I wanted to love, I would.