What I felt that night was barely short of indescribable: a perplexing mix of extreme infatuation and the certainty of unattainability. It was an intoxicating pleasure of which I knew was hopelessly romantic, yet I was happy to be feeling something close to a reality. So I sat on my bed and disrobed from the evening’s awkward apparel, and fell heavily, combating a war of nostalgic pessimism and fanatic optimism. It were as if one side was winning barely, but the favor switching now and again. I knew that this was a trance, and the next time I felt this would be substantial. But at that point in time, I could only sit and let this beautiful, melancholic emotion control my being.