Insanity came in the bottle. We sipped at it as it inched through us and slowly consumed us. The dining table dissolved as the bottle emptied.
A smell wafted towards us. We stood transfixed in the centre of the restaurant. It was sweeter than the sweetest smelling perfume. It wasn’t flowery but fragrant it was. It was distinctive. It was the opposite of everything we thought it would be. It was alluring.
Mesmerised by the other and by the intoxicating smell, we floated into the distance. We held hands, waist, arms. As much of the other as we moved to the edge of madness. Insanity became us. To the brink of reality. Our imagination took over us.
We were neither here. Nor there. We were neither real. Nor dead.