Infatuation is a strange feeling. It’s kind of like when you eat something amazing, spectacular, something that makes you want to stuff your mouth full of this wonderful food for the entirety of your lifetime.
So you go to the stores and raid the shelves.
You buy this dream food, this glorious substance, this impeccable cookery. And you gorge yourself with it whenever you can. Snack time. Dinner time. Lunch time. Breakfast at 5 in the morning. You want it forever, you want it now, you can eat this delicious sustenance until your stomach bursts and your insides spill out all this magnificent food.
And then it stops.
It’s not a sudden stop. It’s a chugging, slow, sort of diminishing slow down. Eventually the cereal you thought was a ladder to nirvana is more a footstool to just being full. The texture is no longer overflowing your senses, blocking and deflecting all other feelings and emotions. It’s just there to keep you to the next meal. Maybe the next time you’ll reach for something different in the refrigerator. Maybe this will be your path to ultimate edible transcendence.
It’s an oscillating effect. A nice smooth sine wave from the crest to the trough and back again.
You’re habituated with the food from knowing. With relationships you’re jaded from commonplace.
This isn’t a bad emotional state. Up and down, maniacally interested, and back to normalization. The rush of feelings gets to you. It tears you apart and leaves you feeling exhausted and grinning.
And you’re living. Eating and enjoying Loving and moving. Taking it one smooth slope to the other. It’s nice.
