History is my drug…

History is my drug,
Especially photographs, artefacts, and ruins from the distant past,
Excavating through mounds of thoughts and emotions,
I get lost in those hypnotising stories,
The one that withstood the classic imprint of time,
The one that questions imagination and reality,
The one with full of violence and injustice,
The one that thrives on legacy,
The one with the forbidden truth,
Love, betrayal, curse, coronation, revolution, ritual, destruction, spirituality,
It feels like there is so much more to eternity,
With history,
There is always an irresistible urge,
The one that builds within to witness the historical moment in the making,
Maybe with a king,
You are invisible in there,
As a mute spectator,
Sitting on a floral rug,
Feeling it,
Living it,
Experiencing the mystical pinch of calmness slowly seeping into the veins,
And that’s when I get the high,
History, my drug.