Infatuation looks like me calling you from a blocked number, thinking I know you but I don’t at all, wanting.
It feels like my heart beating in my throat, our bodies gently holding for a split second of hello, and that first cool and relaxing chill I get from jumping into the water on a hot day.
It smells like hot cherry pie hot and fresh from the oven, cherry blossoms blooming in late spring Seattle air, and brand new clothes.
It sounds like a cold, dark, silent and lonely night but it also can sound like young boys and girls talking loud with a nice tune and fat bass bumping from club speakers in the background. It can sound like the vast large ocean, waves hitting the shore, and seagulls chirping and soaring through blue skies.
Infatuation tastes like a blank tongue waiting and yearning a taste of that delicious food in nearby store window but not having enough change in the pocket to enjoy. Its like the sweet watermelon jolly rancher in your mouth that you’ve been sucking on, slowly but surely dissolving turning into nothing but melted corn syrup swirling in your stomach.