The sickness of ... my reality

I have this obsession of writing about love relationships and the weird algorithms which are defining the dynamic of such a story.
And ... i do it by years.
Writing my own life experiences ... being obviously that i am actually defining the nonsense in its absolute form.
So ... i keep writing ... all being sort of a journal.
Any new day ... is a new experience ... and i allow my soul to be part of that.
Many believe ... i am already insane ... cause any story is
about love and hate, not being so clear if i actually love or ... hate that woman.
But ... yes ... i am confused.
So ... as a process of self therapy, trying in fact to heal my broken lost soul ... i continue analysing and defining all the micro elements of the love story.
Hoping ... i'll find the answer and i'll just stop the emotional balance love-hate ... which i am feeling everyday.
But ... truth be told ... there is nothing to be redefined.
I write all into my books.
... never being ashamed of my thoughts, feelings and
emotions.
Looking ... so lost.
Being ... in fact ... so lost.
And so ... incoherent.
Like many, many others.
Drowned into ... the illusion.