It’s a spot of warmth that moves upwards from the base of your spine and multiplies, leaves you thrumming with heat. Once you catch that feeling of true freedom you find yourself fundamentally changed: upon its departure, you can no longer remain unaware of what it is that you’re lacking; you are cursed with a memory which gives edges to the gap it leaves.

But I have never enjoyed too much talk of empty spaces and missing pieces. I’m far more interested in transformation, metamorphosis, renewal. The force of desire reshapes what we once thought we understood, what we foolishly dismissed as static and unchangable. It makes you absentmindedly loosen your collar, it removes the hanging distance between two restless bodies, it creates long, meandering lines of conversation and fills them with warmth and laughter, the electric edge of possibility.

They say you can’t bottle a feeling. I say you shouldn’t try to bottle what’s boundless anyway. After all, it’s about surrendering to the thrill of the moment, not the act of capturing. Nothing will dispel the ache of what’s unfulfilled except the will to discover new and unexpected dimensions of beauty and pleasure. I can’t help but think we’ll find that perfectly intoxicating something together.