It’s like when you find a person who you can organically spend all of your time with because they bring out the best in you that you hadn’t even realized was suppressed before now. Their presence elicits a pounding in your chest that you’ve forgotten you were capable of feeling. The energy they radiate penetrates through any callouses you claim to have developed when you added another protective layer post-wounding. You’re impervious to their power because though they distract you from any form of focus you thought you’ve developed, you can’t help but think of them when they’re absent and call them to hear their voice in the hopes that you can focus once more afterwards, but to no avail. Eventually you feel like you have to give the false facade that you don’t fall asleep with them looking forward to waking up to them, or else you might seem weak, dependent. The inexplicable you feel courses through your veins so that every appendage depends on its continuity, and if their presence stopped, your blood would halt circulation, and you would cease to exist.
What if that person were a song? My person would be Mouths to Feed by The Epochs.