THE VOICE OF ADDICTION

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     But my addiction doesn't lie solely in the melodic crooning of words spoken to me, because when she says nothing at all, it plays in my head. Whenever she is near me I hear it, almost as if her entrance into my presence triggers the music. Stevie Wonder sings faintly in the background of my mind, "I don't want to bore you with it, Oh but I love you, I love you, I love you." The chorus repeats itself over and over in my head, feeding my high. "Oh but I love you, I love you, I love you more and more." I tell myself that I'll play it at our wedding, even if she never hears it. I'll play it because I always hear it when she's around.
     But every high has its low, and mine are no different. The music stops and exotic whispers are replaced with soul crushing screams, the kind that leave wounds that time is hard pressed to heal. Each word uttered is designed to do the most harm as she fires sentence after sentence, calling into question every feeling that I have for her. Beneath the harshness of each verbal assault, in a key that only I can hear, lies the truth. To the untrained ear it blends seamlessly into her song of disdain for me. But this is my addiction and I know it well. She sings of complete indifference but the real song lies in the hesitancy with which she tells me that she loves me when she wants nothing more than to hate me, and I know that my addiction is addicted to me.     END