I’m in love with.. being in love.

Love, you make me light-headed. I’m floating above the clouds with you. Soaring like birds flying through the troposphere. I’m high baby.

Euphoria.

But I must confess.. there’s someone else. Something else.

I’m in lust with.. being in lust.

I’m hot. My skin is on fire. Insides burn. This accelerated oxidation has me in flames. I’m consumed.

Desire.

But only love can keep me warm at night. Hold me love. Wrap me in your arms.

Secure.

While you leave me whole, lust leaves me lonely.

Yet lust, you’re exciting. We play around in my sheets. Rolling in temporary gratification. For a moment I’m fulfilled.

Pleasure.

And love may at times give me a similar excitement. Because when love is good, we are great. But when love is bad, we are awful.

Once secure with love, I find myself insecure when you’re going wrong. And when you’re done with me love, no one hurts worse than you. You dissect my heart like I’m a cadaver.

Lifeless.

But lust never hurts. It doesn’t stay around long enough for that sort of damage.

Lust does a disappearing act faster than a magician. You’re a fantastic performer.

Tada.

I stay conflicted between the two of you. Call me greedy. Possibly selfish.

But I’m just..

In love with.. being in love

and

In lust with.. being in lust.

Sheila J.