Euphoria.

My eyes hurt from all the Oriental eye liner I have put into them but I am too hesitant to go wash them, for I am afraid that if I do, I will ruin the mood I am in. There is nothing more that I want than the spontaneous state he puts me in. That’s all I need at this point in time and he is God-sent. I am addicted to his recklessness and his lack of plans. I am in love with the fact that he wears no watches and forgets his phone in the car wherever we go. We pause time in a special glass capsule he creates, and I am in love with it. He doesn’t write and doesn’t read what I write. We speak a language that is much different than this one I am using right now, one that is full of cartoon-like metaphors, one that is full of spongy terminology and beautiful misspellings and sexy bad grammar, one that takes someone like him to recreate. Let go.