Best feelings

Best feeling is when I let hot water run down my back, and bones and body, until my fingers get wrinkly, and too cold, or until the dirt and tears clear their way into the drain. Best feeling is also when I drink coffee, cup after cup after cup, until my hands start to shake violently and it feels so good, like I want to do nothing but run, or smile at strangers or smash my head into a wall. Recently, I’ve found best feeling to be when I fall asleep in book stores because my eyes get heavy from reading and heavy from the weight of all the fictional lives I’m not living. Sometimes, best feeling is when I draw a perfect molecule because sometimes people aren’t true, sometimes only chemical structures are true. I feel best feelings all the time when I walk through school buildings at night. Especially breathing in the worn-down, nostalgia-esque air of the Physics Building. I would make up scenarios in my mind where a pretty name and face would sit in some obscure corner, immersed in equations and synthetic music, forever tuned out of reality, and I would get so tempted to pry into his little world and mess up his ordinary day, getting him all bothered and excited. But I wouldn’t have the courage because I’m a girl, so I’d end up stealing a secret glance. Those are best feelings too, secret glances. A lot of times, best feeling is smoking with May. We pester so much at the kinks of life that the smoke gets weary and tired of us. But sometimes, that’s the only way to live. Often, best feelings are old feelings, those high school moments when us best friends would jump the fence and skip the classes, and we’d pretend as if life had a meaning and we’re all simply invincible to the ever-growing resentment of age, professings of love, and adulthood. Or old feeling that exists in the form of empty words and promises, saved conversations and photo albums, those are best feelings too. Sometimes, best feeling makes me angry because it comes at rather wrong moments, a little too early or a little too late, and it never really likes to stay for dinner. Best feeling is when the sun’s ray touches the skin for the first time in the morning, the absolute bliss of bathing in photons and Vitamin D. Best feeling is looking up at a clear night sky, the speckling of starlight and stardust that induces a crooked smile, and the complete realization of the vastness of the universe. Best feeling is also wearing the clothes that fit, and shoes that match. I get a little scared when I realize that sometimes best feeling is hate. Because when everything hurts, hating is the only thing that works. Best feeling is also kisses on the forehead and kissing foreheads. I can probably die from knowing so many best feelings.