“There is not a single thing more beautiful than this universe,” he murmured.
The warmth of his breath caught my nipple, sending chills down my spine. His head was on my chest tracking the subtle heart beats; and his hand was griping my own, ensuring that this was real. Our bodies lay still, naked and innocuous. 
“…But somehow I disbelieve,” he continued.
“Though I can imagine the synergy of the nature, I will never truly grasp something as intricate. It’s too damn mentally intangible: thus unfathomable. There’s only one thing I can make sense of, and that is our love. Rare. Profound…”
“—Effortless”, I interrupted.
“Excuse me?” he asked, now looking at me. My eyes were closed, but I knew nonetheless. Not only could I feel his head move but I had already expected such a reaction. 
“It’s just that I don’t think our love should be compared to the cosmos”, I explained. “What we feel for each other may be overwhelming but we’re not the only people with swollen hearts. It seems to me that any one is capable of falling in love. Not because it’s easy, but because it self-defined. If there is no universal definition of love than it is no more than a four letter word. Where’s the magnitude of depth in a four letter word? Where’s the significance?”
“Cynic”, he pouted.
“Realist”, I countered. 

Not too long ago we had finished having sex. Earlier in the day we took a couple tabs of acid, which made him feel really creative. Because neither of us had enough money to spare towards purchasing a canvas, I figured it would be best that he paint on my body. We used the opening in the attic to climb onto the roof of his house. I took off my shirt then laid down on the rough slate. It took him two hours to paint a landscape that covered most of my torso. Later I did some amateur modeling so that he could take pictures of a what he claimed to be a masterpiece. When I called him out on being egotistical he admitted that the masterpiece he had been referring to was my body. Being so flattered I striped down to nothing, requesting to be taken. Making love under the stars is a far more of a transcendental experience than Hollywood leads you to believe. 

Extricating our bodies and belongings from the roof was a slow process. I think we both realized that this was a moment to be savored. After groping around the pile of our items for several seconds Zane finally located a box of Black cigarettes. Extracting what I call a deathstick, then casually lighting it. There’s no doubt in my mind that at this moment it was action of procrastination rather than addiction.
“I’m cold”, I lied. 
In hopes of making my complaint seem more believable I proceeded to re-dress. The truth is that I can’t stand the smell of cloves. Too sweet for my taste. I much rather prefer the aroma of chaos, hash, and polluted cities. Ready for another truth? No matter how heavy the love-spell, it will dissolve almost immediately. Almost as easily as how a hard dick will go flaccid at the sight of a mom entering a teenage boy’s room unannounced. 

I made my way to the exit, stumbling over a figment of my imagination that resembled Tinker-Bell. 
“Do you still feel it, babe?” I called out while swinging open the attic door. 
“Feel what?” 
“Insane.”
“Somewhat…” he said, letting a cloud of smoke pass his lips.
Before leaving him out there alone I blew him a kiss that he probably didn’t see. His current visual interest was the city scape. Part of me wanted to stick around and watch the glow of Downtown, but most of me wanted to to take a shower, hit a bong load, then call it a night. However, all of me knew that I wouldn’t get any rest until the acid effects have worn off and a shower would be a mere stimulant. So I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of orange juice. It’s so convenient when the only liquid left in a bottle is the perfect enough amount to fill up your cup.