Rose-Tinted Barbed Wire

Neither glamourizing nor stigmatizing is our attitude to drugs. The fact that people in the epochs bygone are said to have used substances in order to improve the efficiency of the mind, create art, and/or free their bodies is not a reason for us to take a celebratory stance to the phenomenon. Current modes of drug-taking, equivalent to consuming a fast food meal, do not cconstitute reason for us to scorn them.

I met you on a summer day. Long years I spent in an imaginery exchange that, after some time, made me think that I lost you to winter haze. Years like months, or vice versa, I was trying to locate and direct my capricious impulses. Then I realized that I didn't lose you. I didn't lose anything. But, for some reason, I stopped wandering through the labyrinth of possibilities. Because you told me that my voice was a pixelated version of myself. I thought that description was inaccurate, to say the very least.

For some time, I entertained a possibility that I could match some other descriptions. I still hold it to be so. Only, those are not descriptions I want to match. It makes me think that whatever I ever thought about you has nothing to do with me. So, I started thinking differently. It makes me feel different.

Sometimes, on a winter night, when I feel soft smell of spring rain, it makes me think of birds. It makes me feel strange. Because when I dream, you think thoughts consisting of the letters d-r-e-a-m, which is very different from the dream itself.

It makes me stop dreaming of air, dreaming of smell. At least not in the same way these combine with birds and nests. Rather, I feel mild melancholy conquering my heart under almost obtrusive gentleness of a warm night. Not because it revamps the flawed dreams of your thoughts, but because it is something I've always felt as the winter gives way to the newly born season. River bank looking seductively abandoned . Greyish beach. Shy leaves chirping whispers. Pale blue sky. And a childish desire not to have to share it with anyone. It caused spending days not talking to anyone. Only to realize that it wasn't exactly the way to satisfy that desire. That's why I liked talking to you. But, I don't anymore because you kept me captive in that pale melancohlic warmth. And I want my heart to breathe in all the oxygen that rich greenery in full bloom in the summer can and does offer. I wish I could imagine you could let me inhale that summer air, but I don't think I can.

Just because somebody has a rose-tinted vision of intoxication does not make us romanticize either the vision or the experience itself. Just because mainstreaming the hype makes it the new hype does not necessarily mean that it is being done successfully. Neither does it make such a thought an example of accurate thinking.