There’s a certain kind of love that makes you feel alive.
The kind that lights you up from the inside. It makes your heart race, your skin buzz, your thoughts spin. You feel like you're the star in some chaotic, intense love story where passion is proof of love and drama is just part of the plot.
But here’s the truth: not every fire is romantic. Some are wildfires.
And toxic love?
That shit burns.
I used to think the yelling meant he cared. That the jealousy was cute. That the way he pulled me back every time I tried to walk away was just proof that I meant something. I mistook obsession for devotion. Control for protection. And chaos for chemistry.
But let me say it louder for the people in the back—love should not leave you in ashes.
Toxic love doesn’t show up wearing a red flag cape. It wears your favorite scent. It texts you “good morning, beautiful.” It kisses your forehead after an argument it caused. And when you start questioning yourself more than you question the relationship, it already has you.
You think, “Maybe if I just love them harder, they’ll calm down.”
“Maybe if I don’t react, they’ll stop provoking me.”
“Maybe if I stop being ‘too sensitive,’ things will finally be okay.”
And while you're bending over backwards, dimming yourself down to avoid setting them off, the fire keeps growing. It scorches your self-esteem. It torches your peace. And before you know it, you're walking through life covered in smoke damage, wondering when love got so hard.
Let me say something honest here:
Toxic love is addictive.
It messes with your nervous system. It keeps you high on hope and low on fear, and just when you’re about to leave, it gives you just enough—a little kindness, a sweet message, a memory of how it used to be—to keep you hanging on.
But here’s the thing about fire: it doesn't care what it destroys.
Toxic love doesn’t care about your dreams, your growth, your mental health, or your safety.
It doesn’t get better just because you gave it another chance.
It doesn’t heal just because you believed in the “potential.”
You will burn out long before the relationship ever changes.
I had to walk away while my heart was still attached.
I had to stop waiting for the apology.
I had to mourn the future I built in my head.
I had to learn that peace feels boring at first, but boring is beautiful when you’ve lived through chaos.
And no, I don’t miss the fire.
I miss who I thought I was with them.
I miss the illusion.
But every time I think about going back, I remind myself—I worked too damn hard to put out those flames just to walk back into the smoke.
If you’re reading this and you’re in it right now—feeling like your love is both a home and a battlefield—I want you to know:
It’s okay to walk away from something that sets your soul on fire if it’s also burning you alive.
Real love doesn’t scorch you.
It warms you.
Gently. Steadily.
Without smoke. Without damage.
And trust me—peace might not have the same thrill at first, but eventually, it becomes everything you were fighting for.
