Wow. I feel like in this riot of people, I have been kicked in the stomach, but by the giddy police. Forget about the need for oxygen. My mouth wants to go back to the place it just left.

There was no word in the dictionary adequate to describe the sensation other than sensational.

Well what's in your Amazonian hope chest?

The only use she has for the word fun is to make the word funeral.

Better to end this dream before it becomes a nightmare.

But I know the difference. Everyone else is a ghost. I exist here alone, stranded by choice. Deserted.

How would I ever know when that moment was right, when expectation met anticipation and formed...connection?