I’m Addicted To Crazy

You aren’t the kind of crazy that I’m addicted to.  You’re trying too hard to be it, too.  The put on act isn’t working.  The jealousy just isn’t real.

I’ve always been addicted to crazy.  Crazy highs and crazy lows.  The only thing I can  hope for is that the highs are more frequent and longer lasting.  So far I think they’ve been worth it, or at least I have a poor memory.

It’s not right.  I can’t help it though.  Every worthwhile relationship I have ever been in the girl has been a little bit teetered towards loony-ville.  She’s done something that was a bit off or said something that wasn’t quite right.  I guess they all could say that the common denominator was me.  Maybe I’m the one who makes them this way.

You know she’s gone when she says, “fine, “then pauses and says it again followed by another longer pause only to say it again.  She repeats this cycle, shaking her head and throwing her hands around.  It’s like she’s arguing with herself inside her head and I only get to hear half of the conversation.

This kind of girl, this crazy girl, has always been full of passion and intensity.  I think that’s what draws me to her (if I’m not making her that way to begin with).  I’ve always been attracted to passion.  To liveliness, and I guess, to a little bit of crazy.

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