Love is a drug

Following my own schedule, which usually doesn’t concord with the rest of the world’s, I have decided to share this love poem I wrote a couple of weeks ago.

Alright, I confess, I shared it on Instagram the right day, but you don’t need to follow me in all platforms, do you? In fact, I rather prefer this thing we have going on here:

I, writing in my personal page, you, getting a notification directly in your email inbox…

I, deciding to overshare a little bit a time. You, deciding to enter to read it…

It’s nicer, isn’t it? More intimate…

Anyway, my love poem goes as follows:


It seems to be

a well established fact

that love is a drug,

for as it happens,

I can’t have enough.

If it weren’t sufficient,

with love being an addiction,

in addition,

I feel it enhances

the symptoms

of my latent


knocking down my capacity

to sit still,

think straight

or focus

long enough to do necessary stuff,

such as work,

or even taking a bath.

But as it is,

I must admit,

I rather like the feel of it,

and I suppose

it is not all that bad,

for I know you feel the same…

And since we both have

the source of our addiction

on demand,

I’d say we’re pretty lucky, huh?

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