Saturation

et me tell you what happens (when you're around)

memory remains memory but the sounds recede into the background, losing every lustrous quality except for one; the only voice I have grows weak and impalpable, every word limps until each syllable is mere rubbish. Impossibly so but truthfully so, there is too much too say in too little a space. Laughter fails too pathetically. Sadness is void. The colors morph and fight each other until they become cloudy, grey brown hazy magenta.... dull. But there is something - not color nor sound - that never fades, that saturates every structure of this minuscule bubble whether happy or sad, that blinds, that make my irises golden, that make sounds move faster in cold air, everything. And that... relieves hurt and pain, magnifies joy, rediscover desire, which sleeps and breathes in the vessels of my veins until truth releases it from its hiding place.