Happiness is just a dopamine rush. I find myself doing outlandish things to acquire this feeling. Looking for things that will pump hot adrenaline through my cold veins. But adrenaline does not compare to dopamine, or the phenylethylamines that made me murmur “I love you” as I lay in your arms. If I could just find something that compares to your kiss on my forehead. Neurons firing under the pressure of hot lips. And every time I chase this feeling I fail. I can feel myself being ****** into a downward spiral of rebound hookups and late nights that I can’t seem to remember. It seems as though the only drug my body comes to life for is your penetrating gaze, that dilates my pupils and hands on the small of my back, that send deep pangs of longing into my stomach. Nothing makes me feel more alive than your fingers in my hair and your voice in my ears. A brain consumed by love can be as deadly as one consumed by drugs.