Despite my best efforts to resist, flights of fancy take me to dizzying heights, giddy my senses, turn my stomach and leave my mind dumb.

Only my gut is active in bracing itself even as my heart denies an inevitable descent.

Swept up by an energy that simultaneously stiffens my spine and pacifies my limbs, I am helpless yet unworthy of rescue.

If it’s a game of survival for the fittest, my weakness behooves me to surrender – a silly, foolish captive of love.