A dizziness as if rolling ahead of a malfunctioning, overly accelerated roller-coaster. Give the leading strap of a group trail to a hormonally packed child. For seconds, follow the headless enthusiasm of a phalanx of lightsome creatures.
The crimson rises in your cheeks, pushed by an unsuspected flow of adrenaline. Advance, advance, jump with fluff cotton in your throat over the concave metallic platform that binds a vintage wagon to another. Animation inside a disguised search for available seats.
Adolescence, amnesiac preface to my intimate fate, you can at times, through your ignorant ardor, undo the folds of my mature youth!
Being around pubescents rinses away the responsible preoccupations.
It is a bliss to be kept constant and tense, but seldom, as to not dilute its effervescent essence. A habit to keep trapped and only consciously scatter on you; as a favorite and rare perfume from an hourglass shaped bottle, whose tiny globules of ardency you pour in a dully adult existence.