And what is this that I have come across? This new-found, unfamiliar sense that seems so entirely foreign.
It's a slow feeling. Can feelings be slow?
It seeps much like hot maple syrup smothered on a stack of pancakes. Seeps into the buttery goodness.
It's taken over: my mind, my senses, my peripheral thoughts and hindsight. I'm terrified of its power; because, like lightning, it struck and shattered its prey in one fell swoop.
Piano riffs seem more beautiful and a nostalgia hits. Honey glazes and drips in golden globs and soprano voices sound ethereal.
What is this?
