Drugs.

It has been long since I wrote anything for myself. Not for an assignment or to know if I have a creative capability. I haven't broken down andstretched out to the keyboard impulsively hitting keys to form words which came uninhibited. I am not feeling anything in particular, but I do feel lonely. No, lonely is sad. Alone is better. I can sit in long auto rides without music or messaging, just looking outside or even at the mirror not thinking of anything or anyone in particular. Maybe my disposition has altered or transformed, maybe i have taken change too honestly or maybe I stopped finding beauty in little humane actions. Whatever it may be, but I have changed. And there is one thing I miss the most.

Dopamine. 

Reaching out. Not too far. Right across.
Just few inches. Arms with hands. Fingers.

Slowly. Coyly. Perfectly. To me. Near me.

Into me.

Serotonin.
Unaware I was. Until. Until now. Tonight.
Arms crossed. Torso heavy. Swift movements.
Pressed breasts that hurt. Not too much. Not too little.
Just perfect.

Endorphines.
Breaths. Heavy and loud. In my ear. Faster.
Rapid and lavish. Wet and warm. Feet with toes.
Toes wrestling. Hair falling. Breaking. On the sheet.
On me.

Amandamide.
Sweet sweat. Pearls. Droplets. Or whatever.
But bliss. Inner-body experience. Echoes.
Of voices and laughter. Not momentory. Will stay like you.
Will you?