The world stuttered in a queer slant as I sat up. I stared at my hand. Love Potion Number 11. I thought it was a joke. Damn you, Ricki. She stood beside me— as always— and offered her arm. I looked to her smiling lips and knew I’d never be angry with her. She helped me up, and my head felt too light. Nearly falling, she caught me, held me. The scent of her was intoxicating, its musk mixing wonderfully with my own. If I died right there, I’d be happy. I closed my eyes and sighed as she embraced me. After an eternity, I turned my face to hers. She kissed me and I kissed her back. So this is bliss.
Photo by Chris Potako