"Love breaks my bones and I laugh." —Charles Bukowski

Everyone on this earth has a certain weakness, a substance or a someone they're most susceptible to. Something that can make even those with the strongest wills fall to their knees and simper just for a sliver of a taste. There is just no denying it. What makes these certain things dangerous is that at some point they stop becoming wants and become NEEDS—a baseless, primitive desire that we never tire of pursuing. Like Adam's missing rib, we are constantly searching for our Eve, and we believe we are incomplete without it.

The most powerful and treacherous of these is love. That's right, love.

Many of you will scoff, some of you will call me a cynical and heartless asshole.

Some of you will even stop reading. For those of you who haven't, maybe I struck a chord. Maybe it reminded you of a previous love, one that left you shattered and scrambling to pick up the remaining pieces. But try as you may, you're simply rearranging the shards in a way that fits, and the original image, the original you is gone forever.

Like heroin, love is like a taste of a fantastical heaven. It plunges you into fits of passion before you plummet back to a harsh and cold reality seemingly devoid of warmth. In this muddled haze, all you can think of is letting yourself get drunk off that someone's exuberant and intoxicating love, letting their passion hit you like ecstasy.

Suddenly, you're an addict. Filled with endless longing, craving for a touch, a whisper, a glance, just anything to get you through the day. You'll lie, beg, cheat, bargain your way back to them.

Just for a little slice of a fabricated paradise.

Love is not for the weak of heart, and definitely not for the inexperienced.

Those of you who've never dabbled in this before and find yourselves straying into this path, be aware. This is a game where only the ruthless win and the pure of heart only end up devastated and embittered.

How do I know this? Because I've been both.

I've hurt and been hurt. I've shed waterfalls of tears, let them pour like rain as I begged for another chance. I felt my heart constrict in my chest and stop ultimately, my veins empty and my blood cold.

But then I watched as I've made others weep and beg me to consider a change of heart, another night, a kiss, just anything to soothe the anguish of detoxifying heartbreak. And that's all I did—just watched. Let them cry. And then shook my head no.

Why would anyone put themselves through this, you might ask? Who needs torment of this nature? The sleepless nights where you reminisce over stolen kisses and beautiful words and agonize over the day when you finally noticed that their eyes had turned away from you and you were no longer the object of their affections? The mornings where your mascara had left two muddy trails down the sides of your face from crying all night? The desolate emptiness that your heart succumbs to when they finally leave you and you wonder if you'll be this miserable forever?

It's because the feeling alone is worth the pain a thousand times over. Feeling your heart swell with sunshine and hope over the promise of forever trumps the inevitable pain of the end.

They say you can tell someone is crazy when they do the same thing over and over again while expecting different results.

When it comes to love, we are all madmen.