#18.

through a dark and raving crowd, she dances wildly--arms thrashing, legs twisting, and hips girating around, around, and around. delirious, dizzy, and almost giddy, she feels powerful in this form. the heavy beats envelope her body, catering to her addiction; and all around, the bright lights are flashing. she catches the eyes of Lust, swelling Hearts, and racing Pulses. Heart, it beats: rapidly. Heart, it throbs: wantingly. her soft hair brushes against the bare skin of another, a fellow contender in madness. she smiles knowingly as they touch and exchange brief conversations: a common courtesy. and then, they go off.

in a room of mirrors, she can see her reflection: hot, flushed, and slightly sweaty. but she takes no mind and steps forth first. lips to lips, hand to hand--pressing against each other, feeling warmth and closeness that they so desire.

and she feels it--that inexplicable allure in each passionate breath, that makes her feel as though she were belonging but free, contradicting but simultaneous. but only for a moment. because this will be over, it always ends. there is an obscure beauty that lies in this basic connection, and she relishes in it, tracing back to her personal haven.