It’s a weakness.
Something about the color that reminds me of hidden places, warm and wet.
Or maybe it reminds me of the blood in my veins, that throbs counter point in my head and loins. As the heart says Lub both echo Dub, and I ride the rising swell.
Pain, hunger, thirst all fade. Incessant inches strain to be heard, and a new drive claws up demanding to be slaked.
Everything else, everyone, is now just an obstacle to that need.
(Source: quantumsatis)