The words of infamy, elation and dread are as follows:
"I think we should have ***"
exuberance immediately follows, this is what you've wanted for so long.
but your body betrays you again.
nothing. nothing. nothing.
the lack of response from your body like a negative heartbeat.
a deepening hole, a very real depression. the object of your desire, even your love in front of you and your life, your thrill for *** flat-lines.
such depression is the death of joy.
the body is willing but the flesh is living dead.
you still breathe, you are still alive, but the question remains:
is life worth living when your passion is flat-lined?
I'm not sure it is anymore