What was I thinking?

I’ve asked myself over and over again, what in the world, in the heavens, in the infinite emptiness of space was I thinking? The sphinx-like question of emotion versus logic wasn’t even an issue; both emotionally and logically I knew it was a very bad idea to kiss fervently, passionately, gratifyingly and hungrily the very woman of my infatuation...’s friend.

The woman of my purported infatuation unhinged reality in my mind, she evoked an emotion that made me become au fait with heartrending Romantics masochistically fixated with their tragedies and misery. I remember every word I ever spoke to her, I remember every smile and gesture she might have thrown in my direction. An essence in time would become moot if I were in absence of her vast green eyes for even a fraction of a second. Scream madness, paranoia, lunacy, for the love of God she is the embodiment of desire.

And her friend, oh, well, yeah… nice ass I suppose. I could blame the alcohol, I could say it was fear of her otherworldliness, I could impugn madness, but I will unlikely ever know what I was thinking that night. I will live with the heartbreaking question of whether or not I had actually seen the hand of destiny come forth and deprive me of true beauty in all its glory, or I just did something that could be coupled with shooting myself in the foot a thousand times over, simply because I’m thick.