About last night…

Don’t we all have some sort of preconceived notion of fantasy versus reality when it comes to intimacy?

At first, I thought mine was justified.

I grew up on this type of music. Didn’t everyone?

Apparently not. But I believed it so strongly, it became a core foundation—

A root I didn’t even realize I had planted.

What I didn’t know was that this root would grow into a belief system that shaped my definition of love and intimacy so profoundly…

That the idea of someone not being able to speak my love language felt like a dealbreaker.

What started as a healthy expectation quickly became a blocker.

I grew up consuming romance faster than a crack addict.

In high school, I would devour 3–6 romance novels a week.

Fantasy. Love. Desire. Devotion.

Feeding my addiction.

Certain words in songs triggered fantasies.

The right line in a movie? Euphoric.

They offered a dopamine release that felt like home—

Until that home became a maze I couldn’t find my way out of.

Fast forward into adulthood…

The language evolved.

Now I heard phrases like hopeless romantic, twin flames, soul mates.

And my addictive personality took a deep dive into uncovering what I was really feeling.

What do you call that?

I collected quotes like they were gospel.

I fed into it even more, not realizing the hidden damage of the gun I was loading.

Romanticism became a coping mechanism.

Fantasy became my compass.

Then real life hits.

You meet someone.

They match some of what you imagined.

You block out the rest—the undesired parts—intentionally.

Unfair, I know.

But that’s what happens when you become consumed by your version of love…

Of intimacy.

Of longing.

And after craving something for so long, you either settle for the closest you can get

Or choose the safest option.

You blur the lines in an effort to protect your fantasy.

More blockers. More problems.

The longing?

Still there.

Still being fed in other ways.

You haven’t accepted your reality—you’ve created a virtual one.

One where your deepest desires are fed guilt-free.

You live there.

It’s safe.

It’s familiar.

Until one day, reality comes knocking.

Suddenly, you’re face to face with truth and fantasy.

And you readily accept defeat just to avoid war.

You don’t want to expose your fantasy to criticism, to feedback, to challenge.

So instead, you label yourself.

“I’m a complicated person.”

“I’m an old soul.”

“I love hard.”

“I’m a hopeless romantic.”

Whatever it takes to keep your fantasy alive.

But at what cost?

The Real Questions:

Will you ever put your walls down and allow yourself to be truly vulnerable?

Will you challenge your fantasy to build a new and realistic one?

Are you open to full transparency about who you are so someone can truly accept you?

Can you be touched—intimately, spiritually, emotionally—without guardrails?

Can you sit with the feel of that?

Can you stay present in it?

Can you build something new?

Or are you still…

Addicted to love?