In this haze, this pleasurable, orgasmic euphoria, nothing else exists but you and it. There are no bills to pay, no kids to feed, no deadlines to meet. Only a cool buzzing in your ears and a tingling in your limbs; a smile on your lips, a glaze in your eyes.
In this haze your mistakes are erased, the space-time continuum tears open and lets you revise yourself, become more of who you think you should've been had you made different choices.
Out of the haze, you realize, had you made different choices, you might have never known the pleasurable orgasmic euphoria of it. Had the space-time continuum really allowed you to revise yourself, you might not have become the kind of person who succumbs to it. And it's a gamble whether or not it is a better or worse existence.
So you need more, and more, and even more of that sweet taboo. You need it to help you forget the past, avoid the present and postpone the future. You need it because with it you are made new, and part of you really likes the high.
And when you are forced to face your addiction, the stark realization of how much you depended on it, how much of yourself got lost to accommodate it in your life, buries you into a black hole of misery and fabricated memories. You forget what was real and what only appeared because you had it in your blood.
And you struggle to stay off the horse in every minute of every day, which would be easier if you did not live across the street from the barn. All you can do is cross that street and come face to face with it in every minute of every day, and wait for what will happen next.
A buzzing high? Or a passing phase?
Depends on where you've hidden your reins...
*smooches...finding this still relevant in my life*
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don't ask.
Prologue by Raquel I. Penzo is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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