Forbidden Fruit

I sat back and let the world put on a show, let the nexus come, and take me.

It started slow, hesitating to reveal its secrets. Then it tingled me a bit; a light breeze flowing down the back of my neck. And it slowly picked up the tempo.

The candles, glaring their center stage smile. Lights, etching their names across the air. Sounds, reverberating all throughout, as if the air itself, had picked up her tune. Then came the senses indulging in all input, lingering, as if to reminisce the all too fleeting moment. Then above, was a cabaret of blue lightning, tracing paths across the expanse, like water on a window pane, yet more erratic like electricity. Then came the climax, as if the show itself had pulled you up into the stage to join it. All around, all at once, too much. I, still heaving, it, continued to indulge.

And how it went on throughout the night.

And as morning trickled in and the performance faded with the growing morning light, I gazed at the beams of light peeking through the blinds. Each one, amber, catching the particles dancing in its light — the swansong, and no encore.

To beg for more wouldn’t draw back the light, nor stop time that was already surging faster than expected. It was hard to pick myself up and grow accustomed to reality once again. Perhaps the nexus shall pass over once again, sooner than expected.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have begged for a taste, having to deal now with nostalgia.

But the ignorant know not what they miss.