It won't be forever that I run on passion, fire, and desire. But for now, it's the smoldering embers of experimentation that have ignited me, by my own curiosity.
"This self is such an intriguing character.
I never order the same cocktail twice, can’t figure out whether I’m a coffee drinker (or not) and viscerally recognize my travels as each point towards growth, not Luxury.
And, even though some nights seem to feel more in the way of decadence, desire, and vice, I take home the memories like simple souvenirs, when lightly observed. I wonder if it ever will come to a point in life, that something will track me down and out, and blow up my defense system leaving me irrevocably submissive to the lush lands and exotic men. But, for now, I am happy to say I lack promiscuity, in the proverbial sense.
~*Gambling, sex, potato chips, cocaine, cigarettes, shoes, alcohol… all compiled and categorized into a little treasure box I call, “UNEXPLORED TERRITORY.”*~
On the flip side of materialism, I have encountered potential suitors, and recreational drug use practices that stirred little sparks. Shiny new toys aren't as attractive to me, as agreeing to outlandish practices that develop the badass adventurer stories in my mind.
I’ll never forget the first time he walked into the room and I looked into his eyes. Those "fuck me" eyes. And, I thought to myself, “Oh, fuck....”
It’s not about the rush you get from betting $10,000, or snorting a line of cocaine and jumping off the roof. These are passé fits of addiction, that are wimpy and short lived. I’m talking about the burning feeling when you feel it all over and inside, and it takes over like a predator of sensationalism, swallowing up all other emotions, as the keyholder to the body as a vessel of watery depths that can only be tamed by the idea of lover, of the high or the escape, of the rush or the run, of the ritual or the routine…whatever keeps you coming back for more. Writing about this makes it feel like it’s more obtainable, even though I know the addiction I have and what I’m seeking to fill has been an impossible journey for just about my whole life now.
My literary rant on this subject brings me to the question, Am I addicted to experiences? Can you be forever swayed by the insatiable desire for more life?!
Are these silly questions?