For one to be attracted to that of the person they so selfishly desire, there needs to be a base "want". A want to have our feelings reciprocated, a want to have this person of our infatuation all to ourselves, a want to—hopefully—love and cherish this person for the rest of our natural lives. To me, this is only a selfish poly to one, hope that we can carry on our family lineage, and ensure that this cancerous tumour of a species doesn't die out, and to also increase our own perception of self image and worth. 

   I do not get this human "want" for affection that others may seem to have. In many of the connections with others I have tried over the years, I find myself growing increasingly disgusted with how the phrase "I love you" feels in my mouth—it's an ugly, grating sound which tears through my vocal cords. It is single-handedly one of the worst phrases my mind can comprehend. No matter how long—or short—a romantic endeavour may be, after a while it loses all semblance of meaning, with it becoming muted and distorted. It becomes sour as the phrase slowly drifts into the category of being overused. The incessant need that most feel to repeat this at every opportunity makes my head reel, and I pity those who do, as I used to be one of the fools who would utter this accursed insult at any chance I was given. The thought of which leaves my stomach in knots.

   Though I despise the feeling of the word, and its lessening meaning, I cannot help but fall an unwilling victim to it, as do most. I find it disgusting to know that I have feelings of "love" for another person, and for them to have these reprehensible feelings charged back at me leaves me with a feeling of nausea. Though it is to my bewilderment that I am drawn towards its intoxicating effect much as a moth is drawn to an open flame. The idea that something as pitiful and vile as myself can yet still somehow draw the peering gaze of this horrific being known as love leaves me baffled to no end. How those who have pursued me were even able to stomach the mere sight of me is nothing short of a miracle in my eyes.

  As I stated previously, I must admit there have been many times when I was smitten by the dionysiac force of love. In these circumstances, there is this uncontrollable, and overwhelming desire to ensure that this person of my infatuation is made "mine" through whatever means, to have them completely to myself, where only I may be the only one who has their unwavering attention. This selfishness, however, has led me into some of the darkest points of my life, where self-destruction and recklessness ran rampant. If it weren't for this maddening force, I may still have some modicum of what it may be like to truly feel like this beast known as a "human".