"Hope you get better soon. : D"
You talk like love is a sickness. Like it's something that can be "cured" by lying in bed, watching westerns and eating chicken noodle soup. That is not the case. Love is something that devours you. It's something that changes how you think. your brain focuses on that person and only that person. Every waking moment becomes for that person. You begin to talk to yourself less, because that person would think its weird. You have less fantasies, unless that person's in them. Even masturbating becomes a sin, unless you're thinking about that person. You notice your gut more. And your virginity stands out. You check your phone more often. you always make sure to wear clean clothes, and deodorant, and you wash your hair better than usual. Every text you get, a surge of hope rockets in your chest. Maybe its that person. Then, when its not, the rocket descends, into icy depths. But when it is, the rocket breaks through the atmosphere and begins orbit. You eagerly devour the words and smileys. Thus starts the analyzation period. Every word is carefully processed on your inner conveyor belt slash x ray machine. It takes ages to think of what to say. Eventually, you clumsily type up an incredibly almost witty response, with a smiley or a winky face. Then you don't send it. Instead you stare, finger hovering above "send." Then you think, "if I respond this fast won't she think I'm too eager?" Grasping onto a reason not to send your text, a wave of relief washes over your spine followed by a wave of doubt and fear as you realize you still need to respond eventually. Finally you decide, okay, this is it. This is what I'll go with and you mash "send" before your brain protests. Time passes. And you check your phone too many times. This is what love is. It changes how you think, how you act. You stop living for yourself. Maybe love is a sickness. Just not one that can be cured with a John Wayne movie and mom's cooking. I hope I get better soon.