Bathed in artificial sunlight in a drunken haze, we all become a certain version of ourselves: Brave Spartan, Bitchy Fashionista, Silly Joker, Dancing God, Sex Symbol, Art Fag, Talkative Junkie. All of these personalities melt together in a crowded dance floor, hands raised to the heavens, praising a god high on the pedestal, spewing blessings of music and love that pulses through everyone’s veins and by the end of the night, if you’re lucky, you disappear with someone else’s version of themselves.
As I raise my hands up, feeling the confetti rain down on me as if they cleansed me of every bad feeling I accumulated over the week, I close my eyes and I let the moment envelope me like a child in her mother’s caress.
I move around in that drunken haze, feeling like that wittier version of myself, somewhere in between an overly indulgent art fag & a dancing god. I realize though, while warm bodies collide with mine, the definition of partying has become different for me. It was no longer about the sex, the alcohol and sometimes, the drugs. It was now about the music and the company, the feeling of being so high on the moment that there is quite possibly no chemical that could replicate that feeling.
Though it was somewhere in-between euphoria and being sober that it hit me: the craving of sharing the moment with a lover. No, I was not about to look for a temporary fix because that is not what I wanted or craved.
I craved for the lover who was thousands of miles away, the lover who I wasn’t even sure would be my lover come the time the Universe allowed us to collide but I knew, in that moment that I craved for him. In the middle of the dance floor, I stood there, watching versions upon versions of strangers and acquaintances intertwining and latching onto each other and I looked and looked but I couldn’t find anything.
Until I closed my eyes and let everything drown me again.
I craved not for drugs but for euphoria. I craved not for sex but for intimacy. I craved not for hugs but for warmth. I craved not for kissing but for love. I craved not for drunkenness but for courage. I craved not for food but for satisfaction. In that moment, I craved because every breath I inhaled reminded me how much of him lingers within me, despite the distance, despite the lack of interaction.
This lover is my sex, my drug, my alcohol, my music, my art. He creates this version of me that wants to take risks and leap into the dangerous unknown. With the thought of him, I am a version of myself that wants to give love to the world with nothing in return.
I crave him not because of obsession, I crave him because he crawls within the depths of my dirty soul and kisses me deeply where it hurts.
And it was there, underneath the bright lights & the crowded floor, I have found the version of myself that was willing to love again.
The Piranha Den 