I found myself giving in, every time I would see the new moon. Maybe I was losing the will to fight or I was obsessed. At the back of my mind rang the warning bells, trying to grab me and bring me back from the bridge of the insanity of my sprouting obsessions, but yet I found myself ignoring it. I was on the verge of a cliff, barefeet, and about to fall. I was not insane, I was obsessed. It could kill me, but it could also show me the thrill of flying. They say obsession are scary, and I was scared too, but the fear was dominated by the urge to feel a buzz. My rational being called out but no one noticed. Now I’m on the edge and losing myself to the beauty. Now I want to fly and the last thing I want right now is to be saved.