She sees memories flickering and fading in and out, in hazy quality like on a projector screen. They pulsate through her head like beams of light, each frame surrounded by a unique, colored aura. With each beat, a new scene flashes. She feels the vibrations of the bass graze her inner ear follicles. She knows her music is too loud, but she doesn’t care. The louder it is, the better she can feel it, both with her body and her soul. Music is such bliss that she’d irrationally risk hearing damage later in life just to feel it so strongly and so passionately right now, in this moment, every. single. time. She knows she’s choosing temporary pleasure over long-term gain, which she never applies to other aspects of her life. But with music, she makes an exception. The feeling that she gets when she can feel every beat of the song and it’s hitting just right on both the mind and the ears, when it’s EXACTLY what she’s in the mood to hear, predetermined or not, it’s pure ecstasy. Euphoria. A hit of digital heroin. She craves more, she knows the risk, she knows it’s temporary, but she basks anyway. Her eyes roll back as her lids close, and rather than moving to the music, she lets the music move her. She hits every beat. She smiles because the music moves her hips, her torso, her head, her feet, her arms; she is its ragdoll. The only thing she controls is the rhythm, which she has from her years of dance experience. She reminisces on those days, the music fading into the background of her awareness for a brief moment, before swelling and engulfing her mind once again. The nostalgia, the colors, the feelings, the movements, she relinquishes all conscious control and lets it swallow her deep into a trance of bass and treble.