it’s when your mind wanders off elsewhere.
your eyes roll to the back of your head, every sight blurry.
the only color you can see is white —
or black.
you have lost all control of your thoughts
and you can think of anything.
you want to escape
but you can’t.
and soon, you are crying for help.

human bodies intrigued her like no other.
how the limbs worked
how the precious gems connected to one another
how euphoria would hit her just by a single touch.
so she tried.
she tried
and she tried
and the outcome was nothing like she expected.
disappointed was to say the least
in pain was to say the most.
liking it not one bit.
it hurt.
but at the same time, it felt good.
all she knew was that she would never,
not once anymore in her life,
would she be curious of his human anatomy.

there was nothing more she liked
than the sting of peppermint tea
electrocuting her mouth.
it was the most unpleasant,
yet the sensation it gave her
was most magnifying.
nothing like earl grey
or jasmine
or a normal one with honey.
it’s what he liked most about her —
that when the taste of peppermint
entered his mouth,
he could feel her tongue against his.

“smile,” she said.
“do a leap,” she said.
the flash didn’t once blind
the pupils that contained sorrow,
for she knew the polaroids
were to be burned in the fireplace
by Christmas.
and yet no splash of filter
could ever hide her smile of no reality.

like the melting of cherries
and the dropping of dews,
it dripped little by little.
her waves crashing against
the sand that was her fabric.
she could not hide it,
for her denim no longer clung
onto her lower limbs.

warm like the heat from the coziness of your presence,
serving as a blanket in the cold winter breeze.
cuddled up with you,
wrapped in your favorite fleece blanket,
snuggled against the fireplace.
hot mugs cupped in my hands,
a flavorful scent of bitter tea steaming off the old ceramic.
in this very night, all i needed was right beside me.
i needn’t look far.
all i have to do is rest my head against your chest, and i’m home.

i love you like a painter loves his brushes.
how he’d always be careful with them,
taking his time to make his work perfect.
i love you like a photographer loves his camera.
how he’d always bring it around,
wanting to capture every perfect moment.
i love you like a writer loves his typewriter.
how the heavy push of the keys
are what bring him joy —
for he knew how beautiful the outcome would be.
i love you like i love … you.
how you’re always on my mind,
how you never leave my side,
how you love me too —
almost like love loves itself.