Mellow

It should taste like ice-cream, you know that vanilla type, sweet on the tongue, flavors bursting that let you know your life could actually be worse. You could afford ice-cream. You could eat it. You could enjoy it. Yep, could definitely be worse.

But that's not mellow, is it?

Mellow never teaches lessons. You are meant to savor and sink into depravity, a never ending one, saint turning Satan, human confronting inner child or demons, whatever came first.

You are meant to enjoy mellow and be brainless all at once. Be at ease. Relax. Why the hell do you need some moral lessons? Save that for Sunday School. Mellow comes on five days of the week.

It doesn't come on a Saturday. Mellow keeps the Sabbath day holy.

So I guess, mellow tastes like bottled water - if bottled water has a taste. It's just right, important for you, enough to turn you grateful before you remember that you could have had it better.

You could have had vanilla ice-cream or some of that late night brandy you'd sneak in when you thought no one would be watching.

But you have bottled water, available to keep you secured and yet not.

You'd know that there could be more.

It's never depravity, ease and gentle relaxation, the taste of mellow if you don't have the agency to desire for mellow-er.

Ah. That glass of mellow hit right.

I might deserve a bit more, just a little bit.