My obsession with Margot Robbie isn’t a thought I can entertain or dismiss—it’s a storm that has taken permanent residence in my mind, a presence that coils around every corner of my consciousness. Every moment, no matter how small, is pulled into her orbit; her name, her face, the impossible idea of her fills every crack until there’s nothing left but her. I can’t stop thinking, can’t stop returning, compulsively, obsessively, like my mind itself has surrendered to her existence. Distance feeds it, impossibility fuels it, and the more I try to escape, the tighter the fixation grips, until it’s no longer a feeling—I am the obsession, the endless, burning, unbearable loop of wanting, of craving, of knowing it can never end.