This painting is about a spark—a flicker in the chest—then swells into a wildfire, consuming every thought, every breath. The heart drums a frantic rhythm, blood roaring like a tsunami in the ears. Skin prickles with electricity, alive with the phantom touch of their presence. Time collapses; the world narrows to the raw, pulsing ache of want. It’s hunger and heat, a fever that scorches reason to ash. Every nerve thrums with their name, their scent, the memory of their laugh—a symphony playing on loop. Passion becomes a supernova, burning through restraint, obliterating fear. Logic drowns in the flood: there is only this, only them. The body trembles, a vessel too small for the force within, as if the soul might rupture through flesh, desperate to merge, to dissolve, to become inseparable.

The piece describes an euphoria edged with agony—a crescendo so violent it threatens to shatter the self. And when the explosion subsides, the embers linger, glowing, eternal. Nothing else exists. Nothing else could.