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Description
She told me once, “You win at life,” and for a few drunken hours I believed her. I believed that I indeed had cracked the secret code to being, and the sense of clarity that washed over me was like a million tiny waves of ecstasy coursing through my veins, making me whole, making me complete, so alive that if I died right that moment, it wouldn’t even matter. Because her eyes were on me and so were her hands, her skin was on me and so was her breath, her sighs were on me and so were her lips, and I was branded with that sick sweet sticky scent and I would never be happy again without her. That night we talked for hours, stumbling through lofty mumblings about God and obscure 60s garage rock, admiring each others’ pretension, even if we didn’t understand what it all meant. The stars reflected in those vague black pool eyes. Only they weren’t stars, they were the street lamp and the store sign, the headlights beaming from a couple miles away. The spark in her smile, the weighted meaning of certain syllables of certain words and the certainty of our using them. The overwhelming sense of feeling and knowing you can feel. The beginning. It ended on a park bench, in the still of night, with no words and no thoughts except for the notion that yes yes I fucking have her, yes and this was truly fucking happening. It ended and it ended and it ended, like a dream, so that when I opened my eyes it was no longer a moment or even a memory but this small speck, the intangible of all intangibles. Something I held on to, something stuck inside my shoe or tied around my finger or shoved inside a fucking pocket only to be rediscovered again, every once in a while, years in a while, when life was slow and boring and had run out of gas. For a millisecond, I was invincible, and I was fucking wanted, and I was reeling from the feeling of complete peace and happiness and yeah...let's keep in touch and the notion that once, I fucking won at life.

Description
She told me once, “You win at life,” and for a few drunken hours I believed her. I believed that I indeed had cracked the secret code to being, and the sense of clarity that washed over me was like a million tiny waves of ecstasy coursing through my veins, making me whole, making me complete, so alive that if I died right that moment, it wouldn’t even matter. Because her eyes were on me and so were her hands, her skin was on me and so was her breath, her sighs were on me and so were her lips, and I was branded with that sick sweet sticky scent and I would never be happy again without her. That night we talked for hours, stumbling through lofty mumblings about God and obscure 60s garage rock, admiring each others’ pretension, even if we didn’t understand what it all meant. The stars reflected in those vague black pool eyes. Only they weren’t stars, they were the street lamp and the store sign, the headlights beaming from a couple miles away. The spark in her smile, the weighted meaning of certain syllables of certain words and the certainty of our using them. The overwhelming sense of feeling and knowing you can feel. The beginning. It ended on a park bench, in the still of night, with no words and no thoughts except for the notion that yes yes I fucking have her, yes and this was truly fucking happening. It ended and it ended and it ended, like a dream, so that when I opened my eyes it was no longer a moment or even a memory but this small speck, the intangible of all intangibles. Something I held on to, something stuck inside my shoe or tied around my finger or shoved inside a fucking pocket only to be rediscovered again, every once in a while, years in a while, when life was slow and boring and had run out of gas. For a millisecond, I was invincible, and I was fucking wanted, and I was reeling from the feeling of complete peace and happiness and yeah...let's keep in touch and the notion that once, I fucking won at life.