Gunslinger.

                I felt the inexplicably urge to collide my lips with hers, although I have already done it countless times in the past. Her mouth seems to summon mine every time I see those big light brown eyes. I, disabled to refuse, see my own body move on its own. She moves as if music is always playing in the background, gracefully gliding on the cracked streets. I would have never imagined that seeing such magnificent display could bring me any kind of sorrow. I couldn’t be more mistaken. I can’t bear the thought of not being able to touch her whenever I want. This need consumes me as I crumble to fulfill my day with pointless activities, in a desperate attempt to keep my mind aside from this madness. Every day without her presence is a struggle. The week ends, along with my patience. The struggle has never been more real. The time we have is awfully limited, if compared to what my compulsion demands. The cycle is renewed each time I see her beautiful face in front of me. For a while, everything appears to be okay, in order. The urge is still there, but she brings me a certain placidness that I cannot comprehend.

                Am I going insane?