Guilty Pleasure


You profess love for both of us, yet it's evident your affection is divided. You cherish her like a warm, homemade meal, made with love, evoking feelings of comfort and serenity, reminiscent of a sunrise.


Conversely, your love for me is akin to the exhilarating drop of a rollercoaster. It's an adrenaline rush that briefly lifts you out of your seat, reminding you of the thrill of being alive. I am your adrenaline fix, your fleeting high.


My concern lies in the fact that those who crave adrenaline often lose interest. Nobody falls deeply in love with a temporary rush. There's a danger in romanticizing the thrill, as it can lead people to ruin their lives chasing an unattainable fantasy.


She's your safety net, your seatbelt. I'm your wild ride, your partner in crime. She's your voice of reason, your "play it safe" mantra. I'm your "limit is the sky" mentality. My love is a momentary pleasure, whereas your love for her is a lifelong commitment.


I'm aware I'm the one who will eventually slip away, while she's the one you'll never abandon. You love us both, but in distinctly different ways. I'm your guilty pleasure, your forbidden fruit, while she's your comfort zone, your safe haven.


Although I'm not naive enough to believe you'll end up with me, I'm certain you'll miss my touch. You'll be forever haunted by the memory of our thrilling encounters.


— tinoflowery

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