It's Been Three Weeks

It's been three weeks now.

Three weeks since we talked. Three weeks since we took that fateful walk, said those fateful words because things were spiralling out of control and we both needed to regain some form of control over the growing passion.

Spontaneous combustion.

Our close proximity gave us that opportunity to get to know each other, but I doubt either of us expected things to get so serious so fast.

I should have been wary, but I wasn't.

I should have had questions, but I didn't.

I should have been afraid, but I'm not.

There's an enthusiasm about him that I am afraid to spoil, an innocence that seems beyond my reach. His face lights up when he speaks of things he loves, and I am enamoured by that passion for life. There is the affection he is unafraid to show, and a hidden strength, and the confident way he carries himself. There is the way he slips his hand in mine, and the times when our eyes meet and the times he is unafraid to take intiative.

It's a constant journey of discovery. Not knowing the balance of control, and when exactly to let go. Wondering if I'm putting more effort into this than I should, now knowing if perhaps I am letting myself become too involved, too fast. Despite my exterior, I am, admittedly, a creature of passion and hopeless romance.

I am comfortable with his affection for me, and touched at the efforts he has made with my friends and my life, and those actions speak so much louder than words.

Yet, I am wary of making that commitment, even though in my hearts of hearts I think I've already committed myself.

This time I'm taking things slow, because perhaps I see potential there.

Perhaps I see us going the distance.

Perhaps I'm finally warming up to the idea of a future.

Perhaps I can finally say goodbye to my fear of commitment.

Take That First Puff

Take that first puff.

Come on. You know you want to.

Inhale.

Feel the smoke fill your nostrils, the oh-so familiar scent that smells oh-so good, and you close your eyes and savour and let the calmness rush over you as you continue breathing in the smoke. Feeling the rush to your head that justifies even picking up that little rolled up piece of paper.

To satiate that need, that craving that lies within you.

And the chemicals work their magic inside your body. Working their way down to your lungs, cells inside your lungs dying and desperately trying to fight those nasty little chemicals attacking them, expelling and oozing yellow pus that fills your alveoli and clogs up your previous lungs, and for a moment, you felt like you couldn't take a breath, and the hacking cough racks your body.

And perhaps one day, those cells can no longer take the abuse and slowly change into those slow, cancerous cells that engulf your organs and betray your own body responses, and as you throw up from the radiotherapy and chemotherapy, you wonder what you did to deserve this hell.

And the chemicals activate those sympathetic nerves in your body, and they fire at will, affecting your body systems, but masked subtly by the alertness and wonderful sensations you feel inside you head. And in the meantime, they fire away, making those blood vessels contract, causing the pressure inside to increase slowly, day by day.

And perhaps one of those days, a blood vessel might finally break and the blood will leak out like a damn, flooding your brain as the stroke paralyses your reactions as you gasp your dying breaths. Or perhaps, a clot will break off suddenly from the buildup of cholestrol you slowly accumulate in your arteries, and lodge in your heart and you moan as the dull, crushing pain of a heart attack hits you.

And all this while, you continue smoking in your blissful ignorance, or perhaps, blissful avoidance, while your body dies a little with every breath.

And perhaps, years down the line, you view the tear-streaked faces of your loved ones as you lie dying and you wish you had never quite gone down that path.

Go on. Keep on smoking.

I dare you.

I Lost Myself to the Music

The pulsating, throbbing rhythm reverberates through every cell as I weave my way through the mass of writhing bodies. I scan the crowd in fascination, taking in the multitude of people. Faces dripping with sweat, individuals sporting mohawks and various other unusual hairdos. Ravers with their fluorescent patterns on various parts of their clothing. People dressed up with wings and halos, coming to party with the angels. And various others, prepared to brave the sweat and the heat of the crowd.

"Welcome to Godskitchen!"

The voice sounds disembodied, but the crowd roars, and I am reminded of the scene from Matrix II, where Morpheous addressed the crowd. Only, as I smile to myself, I'm sure the Matrix didn't quite have people shooting themselves up with various drugs in the middle of the floor. I catch James' eye, and he smiles at me, almost ferally. There's an unleashed excitement building up inside him, as is with the rest of the crowd, and I brace myself for the impact.

Then the light show starts and I am dazzled. Dazzled by the bright lights that pulsate and blink and swirl around with the music, the only light in this dark room filled with thrashing bodies and throbbing music, and I too let myself go with the crowd. Letting the music fill me as I dance like there's going to be no tomorrow, glancing occasionally at Iyra and Hugh as they too seem to dance mindlessly, almost trancelike with the music.

It was like being trapped in an alternate universe, where time was inconsequential, and reality was blurred. Where nothing existed but the music and the lights.

The Art of Chocolate

"Are you always this sexy with chocolate?" he wants to know, as I share my passion on the subject, and I smile at his question and quirk an eyebrow.

Eating chocolate is an art.

I break off a small piece and let it rest on my tongue, letting the warmth melt the chocolate and coat my tastebuds. Savouring the first coat of warm, melted chocolate, tasting the creaminess as it slides down my throat.

Letting the taste sink in as I close my eyes and indulge as the sweetness spreads through my body. The creaminess of milk chocolate. The sweetness of the white. The slightly bitter headiness of dark chocolate. The taste intensified a hundred times as I concentrate on the taste on my lips, and on my tongue.

There are the different variations, which include nuts and fillings, and each and every piece presents it's own delicate pleasure, in the contrast of the consistency. The smoothness of chocolate and the solidness of the nuts and the slight granularity of the fillings.

I like small bites. Licking and nibbling until I can no longer resist the temptation and let myself indulge in the pleasure it brings me. Letting the filling spill unto my tongue. Tasting the different textures. So different, yet so wonderful together.

I was never very good as resisting temptation.

My weakness. My art. My passion.