Sadly, he is irrisistably addictive in a way uncomprehendable by the essence of 'love'. Infatuation would be a meagar understatement. He is my illicitly vague secret. In a sense of being exile, I just want to admire him from a corner. In a sense of romantic predilection, I want to captivate him in myself. A mere fancy of the heart can literally drive a person insane, whether or not one chooses to. As for me, I do. I choose to be your heart throb. Even though it will bite me in the ass later. [;

and you still don't believe me.
How l a m e .