I'd think it's like being drunk.
Without the giddy part.
Seven minutes have passed
and you finally realize your eyes are dry from staring and your nails have been subconsciously digging into your arms hoping to cling on to reality.
Your existence is at 35%
and you can't ignore it.
The pain is unlike any other because with the other kind, you experience it.
I'll look at my hands for hours and try to understand.
Understand what?
You ask. I
don't even reply.