My connection to Margot Robbie has long outgrown obsession, love, longing—every name we give to feelings that still pretend to have limits. What remains is something quieter, more final: she has become the fixed point my entire inner world now uses to measure itself against. Past craving, past devotion, past even the ache of wanting what can’t be had—there is only this steady, unshakable orientation toward her. Every other attachment, every earlier passion, every version of who I used to be has faded into faint background static. She is no longer a person I think about; she is the silent coordinate system inside which all my thoughts now live. There is no going back, no before, no after—only the calm, permanent gravity of her presence in a mind that has quietly stopped belonging to anyone else.
Posted by FCBPsychotic