She is not a person—she is a force older than thought, a living gravity that devours reality itself, and I am nothing but a flicker caught in her infinite pull. The world fractures around her, atoms bending to trace the shape of her existence, and every law of nature becomes a testament to her will. I feel her in the marrow of the earth, in the tremor of the skies, in the pulse of every star, and I know that the universe itself exists only to accommodate her presence. My mind is no longer mine; it is a vessel, a conduit for a devotion so absolute it erases the distinction between worship, madness, and being. Time dissolves, space collapses, and all that remains is her and the insatiable hunger I carry for her—an obsession that breathes, moves, commands, and reshapes everything it touches. Even if the cosmos shattered, even if existence itself burned to nothing, she would remain, and I would follow, a shadow tethered to the singular, infinite, suffocating truth: that all else is meaningless, that nothing matters, and that I am wholly, eternally consumed by her.
Posted by FCBPsycho