What is it about that magnetic pull, the one that feels like coming home, yet leads to such devastation? That magnetic pull. The one that feels like coming home, like a recognition your soul has been craving for lifetimes. You, the one who feels everything—the joy of a stranger, the pain in a loved one’s unspoken words, the energetic hum of a crowded room—you find them. Or rather, they find you. The narcissist. The one who seems so bright, so charming, so exquisitely attuned to the deepest chambers of your heart. At first. And you, with your vast and open heart, you pour your light into them. You see their wounds, the frightened child beneath the bravado, and you offer the one thing you have in boundless supply: your compassion. You think your love can heal them. You think your sensitivity is a bridge. But you’ve mistaken the nature of the dance. This isn’t a meeting of souls. It’s a transaction. An energetic siphoning. You are not seeing a wounded soulmate; you are facing a black hole in the shape of a person. Let’s name this thing directly. Stop calling it a “toxic relationship.” Stop calling it “bad luck.” This