how can loving something too much be bad?

they couldn't stop. it became a part of who they were until being without it was impossible. they died unable to remember how it had felt before, instead, they remembered a list of facts, both arguable and unarguable. these facts that made up who they'd become, told them nothing of what they'd thought or the theories behind their actions. in regards to this, one could only speculate. it made retracing paths to happiness impossible. this self-reflexive archaeology became more of an empty habit than a finite goal, like most things done too frequently.