The days following passion always are colored by tinges of sadness. I get so high and enraptured with my body experiencing another, that when it dissipates into reality, it feels as though I’ve dropped 100 meters into the Earth. This dysphoria is an ice blue chill that keeps me up at night and dazed through the sunlight. It is something I do not try to push away. This crash is a part of the entire experience. Feeling the absence of what was there, between my thighs, tangled my hair. It’s almost the best part. It is what keeps me hooked. Keeps me searching for another desire that will surpass my threshold. 

What new heights will I crash from next?

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