Almost Like Magic

It pricks like electricity trickling down your skin, and even when you are both a continent apart, it doesn't matter because the spaces in between is the only thing that is tactile; you could almost touch it. Nothing is so important as compared to the words spoken: it gets bigger, fatter and more delicious, you can taste the taste, and smell the spirit behind every word, it's intoxicating and quite bizarre – a stranger passes you a pack of cocaine as you take a walk in the park. An auditory high and it treats you right and kind when you least expect it, and because you least expect it that's why.

The Voice is the purest sound you've ever heard; it will haunt you like a half remembered song. A song you want to lock it but there was never a keyhole to possess it and let in safety, only your memory. It belongs to you; no one else gets to hear it.

Because you have been let in to this privilege, this little magic, this let's fade into the sunset nonsense, that you slowly and tamely accept it. Let it tame you until you no longer want to resist it. Chemistry, like an unborn baby is fluid, pure, innocent, it just happens. To abort it is no sin here, you won't go to hell. You would only end up searching but never finding that something to fill the eternal void. It comes and passes you by like sweet breath; you know you should inhale it and not hold your breath, even if it lasts only for one moment, because that’s all it takes for magic to be born. Or, take another cue: when lightning strikes.

Talking about you, baby.

*You said it has been a while since the word Magic is used, so.