Nobody warns you that the train you’re boarding is heading off a cliff, but you board it anyway. It’s the relationship that feels like a beautiful, high-speed train you can’t help but board, even though you know, with a sickening certainty, that the tracks lead right off a cliff. You buy the ticket anyway. You find your seat, you admire the view, and you pretend not to hear the screech of metal on metal as you hurtle toward the inevitable crash. And when it’s over, when you’re standing in the wreckage, picking shards of your own heart out of your skin, you swear you’ll never do it again. I've sat with people who describe this exact feeling of being on a runaway train. You’ll choose a different train next time. A slower one. A safer one. But then you hear that same whistle, that same intoxicating rumble, and you find yourself running for the platform, ticket in hand, ready to do it all over again. Let’s call this what it is. It’s not bad luck. It’s not that you’re “attracted to the wrong type.” It’s a pattern. A deep, grooved, and brutally efficient pattern etched into your nervous system. Stephen