Is reality more than a conglomerate of perspectives?

I fell in love with your words instead of your smile; your veins and not your eyes.

This is not a love story, nor a story about love, and maybe it's not even a story at all, but rather the expressions of the mind as they try to conceive a reality that is tangible and livable. I drank five shots. I feel like I should be pretty drunk, more than that I still feel nothing. I still can type like a sober person and all of my thoughts seem sober, just a little heavy handed, however, much less than the me that didn't have five shots.
Time's still splitting to me. It's how the two parts of me live- in different time experiences. It allows me to have this dialogue in my mind, with myself, that is. It is what causes me to syphon all possibilities on a moments notice. One me lives in reality and the other independent of time. That part of me, the independent, is what allows for objectivity; it fights the subjective me that's tied to all the currents.
Is anyone else converting this oxygen into carbon dioxide or do I pant alone?
The dreams that seem to blend into the daylight are what makes this all the more confusing. Am I dreaming of the other realities I exist in? The realities that are close to the truth of mine, but only slightly off by the words chosen or lack there of.

Avert the gaze, avert the gaze; he'll fleet, flutter, and fly away. But me? I am immortal.