It's the chills, the chills that you feel scuttling from the edges of your face toward your nose during the thrill of overstimulated excitement, or release. Brought on by physical speed or sensation, a feeling conjured by something audible, a story or a song, a race or the breath exhaled right before you truly test yourself physically, or maybe it's just the view over the pass that you've been hiking to for countless hours that forces your mind to flood it's body and soul with a substance so euphoric that it hovers between a liquid and a gas.
A sensation that grows and multiplies over the surface of your skin. Like a time lapse of grass encroaching on a patch of fresh soil, reaching up with soft blades, ready soon enough to lie down on under the summer sun.
The rippling shiver that makes the skin on your face feel like flowing sand, like a sound check for the nerves in your face saying: "I don't think you can comprehend this feeling right now. Of being alive. The sort of alive that makes you understand how dead you have been your entire life up until now. The sort of alive that makes you question why people spend their entire lives never waking up from their deathbed. Never wanting to get up to feel the blood rush through their veins and test what being alive could really mean."
-Rowan A. Eyzaguirre
