I sip from this beautiful moment. The taste in my mouth is something on the verge of brilliance. Its very essence seems to be hanging between the scales that delicately balance reality and fiction. I lick my lips to savor the flavor as I am certain that any second the scales will tip in favor of reality and I will be forever denied another sip. In this moment I fervently try to uncover the mystical ingredients of what I have tasted, so as to hang a hat of hope on the notion that I could somehow reproduce it at some future juncture.
A dash of excitement, a spoonful of fearlessness. Possibly some measure of anticipation for things not known yet? Perhaps. I close my eyes to heighten my sense of taste in an attempt to fine tune the exact portions of each feeling. Seconds give way to minutes and hours and, yes, even days and I am amazed at how long it lingers after the moment is past.
And then I have an epiphany, like the most divine aftertaste that has ever danced on the palate. It’s the possibility that the scales could tip in favor of reality, and that reality itself is the key to a bottomless cup of these simply delicious moments. It is a truly fantastic idea that the hopeless romantic in me just can not help but believe…