Every time I resolve to give you up, you're back, there where my eyes can't help but dart to you. I wish I could stop it in those moments, to prove that I can rid myself of my addiction to you.
But the truth is that I don't want to stop. There's something about hanging on to something so unattainable that's appealing, like standing at the edge of a cliff and holding your arms out to fly, knowing that if you really jump, you'll only tumble to the bottom, a heap of broken bones and blood flesh. But all the same, it's nice to feel the wind tug away at you, tempting you forward, even though you're at a stalemate; underneath the temptation is a tough resolution to never let it take you.
So you'll never take me. But I'm going to continue standing on the edge with my arms out, just so I can feel the heartbreaking loneliness and longing that reminds me that you're still there, and that I'm still here. It's breaking to know that you can heal.