Love.

Nirvana comes.
Nirvana comes in a mid sized brown, odd bottle. It comes down with a rhapsodiac melody in a dim lit bar on a prehistoric wooden table for two where one of seats never fills up. Nirvana comes and blinks twice, before its familiarity stands out, amongst the cool oceany smoothness of the evening that Sinatra offers in New York New York. And before you know, before you’re quite done for the night, you’re far away with that odd, lost bottle, in your own world where nothing stirs and nothing moves and nothing is the very music that fills the void your heart, and you know, that even if the world is blown away by an H-bomb at this very instant, it is okay, for in that dim lit bar, you have just discovered your way to your very own 8th galaxy.
Nirvana does come…