The Lover


Throughout my days, I have moments of being intoxicated.
Ordinary days, ordinary moments.
Moments that are fleeting and hyper-intense.
They incapacitate my very core.

There’s no exclusive trigger, nothing specific that is a catalyst for this intoxication.

It could be a memory; a memory of a kiss, a perfectly described concept or an alarming sound.

It could be a sensation; a dull ache between my thighs, pulling my hair out of a tight ponytail or standing still in a room full of moving people.

It’s a jolt of haze that overpowers my abilities, a moment of surrender to a wave of something beyond me.

The reaction is always the same. Diaphanous.

I’ve been told, I even appear drunk. Just for that split moment. My eyes glaze over, lips part and body relaxes. Overcome with something ethereal.

In the span of a moment the entire process runs its course.

First, it’s the buzz. My entire body feels warm and cozy – like I’m one giant vibrating ball of energy.

Sounds sound better, people around me appear more attractive, the air smells cleaner.

Then the numbness hits, like I’ve been pumped with a morphine concentrate, creating a moment of complete euphoria. My body goes into a state of hyper sensitivity, it feels like I can recite and describe every molecule of my organism.

I spin, my head gets dizzy then I’m slowly adjusted back into reality.

These moments have become the highlights of my day, my nirvana. I don’t know what they are, or why they happen – but I’m glad they do.

He patted the bench.
I sat down next to him.

He hadn’t touched me, he wasn’t even looking at me.
But it happened.
I was drunk.
Drinking bliss.
Drunk on him.
His energy.
Drunk on anticipation.
Intoxicated by movement.
Incapacitated by surrender and trust.

Photo Credit Illusion

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