In the dim light of a bohemian café, she leaned across the table, holding a glass filled with a golden liquid that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Her eyes shimmered as if they carried forgotten constellations, and her voice was a low, mesmerizing melody.

“Before you take a sip,” she said softly, “you should know: drinking my dreams isn’t just about getting lost. It’s about being consumed by intoxicating orgies of wild poetry and a love so deep it defies even the gods.”

He hesitated. The world around them seemed to go silent, as if time itself waited for his decision. The glass was warm in his hands. An enveloping aroma drifted upward like invisible verses dancing through the air.

In that moment, he understood: there would be no turning back. The first sip would be the final thread of lucidity. And so, he drank. ❤️

©️ Beatriz Esmer