synapse

The cold sweating possesses my body, and this unbearable itch, having worked its way under my skin, drives me mad with desire. It is only enough to taste you, and this insatiable longing is sated. And then it starts. My skin turns hot, my vision blurs, and my breath grows ever shorter. This can't be love. It must be an allergy.

The preceding thought brought to you by:

cookies.

I put some pecans in them this time, not really taking into consideration the fact that some of my coworkers might not be able to eat nuts.