When you left, I didn't feel it,
I didn't feel a thing but sweet, sweet relief
and the breath I had been holding since you said "I love you"
left my body all at once.
All at once.
That's how it hit me.
The pain didn't creep up on me.
It hit me.
All.
at.
once.
full force at my throat
into my lungs, chasing the oxygen I had left
through my blood stream and out of my throat.
all.
at.
once.
It smelt like our first kiss.
Sloppy.
Awkward.
and *****.
not because we we're being ***** ourselves,
but we were, quite literally, *****, on the ground, next to the lake.
I wonder if anyone ate that pizza we left because we were so full of each other, we didn't have room to eat it.
Last week,
I couldn't breathe. I was walking home from work,
and it smelt like you.
It smelt like late nights in your car,
it smelt like Sunday mornings in your bed
when neither of us wanted to get up but your parents were going to be home soon.
it smelt like my high school parking lot, where you asked me to be your girlfriend, and I barely responded because I could not stop smiling.
it smelt like hello and sunshine and summer.
it smelt like goodbye and cold and winter.
and it smelt like you and it hit me,
all.
at.
once.
and it's over.