Sometimes you think that you can no longer fall into the infatuation. Sometimes you manage so well to skim over the surface of your emotional existence that the deep and concerning thoughts do not penetrate your oblivion but fade into nothingness and night.
Amidst the beautiful escapes you secure for yourself, you plunge wilfully into the beauty of the night but none of the nothingness. The darkness of the outside is pierced by the proud streetlamps of the city centre and by the falsely masculine cars that occupy the driveway. The bustling of the outside is sustained by the hurried people, impatient vehicles and their frustrated interactions. The light of the inside is sustained by the chandeliers in the foyers and concealed lights within the cornices. The bustling of the outside is resisted by the two-layers of doors in the lobby, the two layers of glass in every window and muffled by the thick, continuous carpet underfoot. The outside and inside are kept separate to ensure that the pollution of sound, light and air from outside do not touch the muffled sound, recreated light, and filtered air of the inside.
The interior of the luxury hotel is adorned with pretty fixtures, upholding the pretentiousness which keeps the arrogant at ease. It is nonetheless beautiful to the eyes. It is a sanctuary in the city where the struggles and stresses are dissolved in the serenity and where the worries and woes are lost in the wealth. The marble is glistening, the bronze is shimmering; but the chandelier is collapsing, the air is suffocating, and the footsteps are drowning. The beauty is alluring but lifeless because this world is immortal.
The room is spacious and decadent, with every comfort you could sensibly desire; yet, its vastness proves unwelcoming. When you show him into the room, it feels warmer and more complete. He makes the place become what you wish it to be. The beauty becomes intriguing and vital, but that is because it is his beauty.
Despite the long-awaited anticipation for finally meeting, you distance yourself from your expectations. To your joy, you realise he is a better incarnation of the impression which you had created prior. His face is a pleasure to your sight, whose sharp features delight your satisfaction in the proportions. His body is a sensation to your touch, whose lean masculinity arouses your appreciation of the carnal. His voice is an enchantment to your attention, whose charm triggers your susceptibility to the impressions, and whose simultaneous foreignness and closeness brushes you into the trap that is his aura.
You regret not staring long enough into his eyes when the time was there. Your thoughts were racing and skimming on the surface of those moments, not considering how much they could mean later. You were lured into his eyes where you were not drawn to anything in particular but instead were captivated by an absolute paleness. To your delight, the night still lasted long into the lateness and never faded into the nothingness.
You shared so much in those precious days and nights, but it was not enough. The only thing of which you had too much was alcohol and you should have had less of it and instead consumed more of him. Connected in body and mind, momentarily, but with something persisting, indefinitely.
The pseudo-equilibrium of your psychological self has been disrupted by him. He has made it more difficult for you to exist in the new home that is not your real home. You hope that you could cultivate something with him more than those few nights that now feel like a distant time of the past. The euphoria of those moments overflows from your memories and floods your destinies, shaping the path that is and what could be. There is too much nostalgia for you to tolerate in this moment, so you must give it to the future. That future where your hopes are burning with the lust of meeting him again, amidst the fresh euphoria, as you open the door to the room where those memories live themselves out once more.
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