You drove me mad to the point where I saw myself drenched in spirals of pigments. Your eyes flaming all over my face forced me hypnotized and you sucked the feelings out of me just like you owned them.
Because you did. And I could have taken a shot at my boss's nicotine, because I've heard at some bar downtown that it stimulates your memory, and I wanted your present sphere of affection and coziness in my heart to be forever long lasting.
But I chose not to because I know you'd scrunch up your nose and harder your chest to avoid the smoke that purified my mind.
"Chiara," you whispered faintly. But then you cleared your throat like it was scratchy from inhaling too much of my own self.
"It's Chiara Mae, my name."