ADDICTED

I’m addicted.

I’m addicted to sights, smells and joys that have nothing whatsoever to do with you.

My mind feels numb and my soul feels alive when I espy that one aroma somewhere around.

I need not think.

This is right. This is how the world should smell.

My eyes come back from the dead when they dive into an immeasurably deep pool of clear, honest water. Eyes…

Why do I need to be rescued from that pool?

It feels like home.

Let me, oh please, let me be.

My consciousness seems doubly, even triply, alive when I feel you close – which is all the time.

An unreal fantasy seems realer than reality.

The proverbial evening breeze seems to be delivering lingering caresses from an unknown lover.

Or is he known?

Secrets that I keep of the world and from the world are safe in my heart.

But is my heart my own?

I feel angry if someone or something hurts me for once.

It means there is no good in me or that someone, something.

But everything around has you and only you.

Every aroma reminds me of you, every pair of eyes seems to have you behind. Every person seems to be made of you and every detail of the world – real and in my mind – has got to have inevitable connections to you.

I feel I’ll become you one day myself and that thought brings me a heady feeling of weightless transparence.

I love you.

And I’m totally addicted to you.