On Kindred Spirits

This is the beginning of a conversation I had some nights ago with a random stranger in a random bar at a random time in the black of the AM. 
We sat side by side, separated by a few empty bar stools, me drinking a gin & tonic and her sipping what looked like just a soda, although I later found out she had laced it with cough syrup which contained Codeine. 
Out of nowhere she mutters to no one in particular, 
"There's a fine line between love and insanity."
I thought it was a poignant thing to say, so I said nothing. 
Instead I let her words sink in so my tipsy mind might sluggishly wrap itself around them, envelop them, devour them as I do with all the words that truly speak to me.

A moment later it rockets forth; my opinion, like a jagged comet of realization crashing into the scarred surface of my psyche. 
I finish my GinTonic and turn slightly towards her before speaking, mostly into my now-empty glass:
"Bullshit. There is no line. Love IS insanity. Why else would you allow somebody to hold your heart, not knowing whether or not they might let it fall and shatter? Love is Russian Roulette with an automatic weapon; the insane part is that we don't at all mind pulling the trigger."

The girl looks at me, and a second later just bursts out laughing.
And she doesn't stop.
Her laughter is infectious -as any laughter tends to be- and soon I am genuinely laughing along even though I have no idea what's so damn funny.

So yeah, that's how I met Nisrina.
She's damaged goods, I'm a box of broken mirrors. 
We get along okay.