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Harley Rae Feb 2013
I am so tired of loving and not being able to show it.
I am so tired of being loved and not feeling it.
I am so tired of saying, “I’m doing alright, how about you?”
When I don’t give a **** how you are doing. And I’m not alright. I’m far from alright.
You’re stupid enough to have to ask and I hate you, I hate you, I hate you for being so dumb. For everything.
But you are so lovely and so extraordinary that I have to love you.
And I am so dumb for letting my emotions control my words.
And I am so sorry for being unhappy and not being everything you’ve ever wanted.
And I am just so sad.
So sad about my life, being alone, being ugly.
Sad that death is an impending doom. Sad that I’ve run out of drugs and cigarettes to fuel me.
Sad that I’m in love.
Sad that you’re dumb.
Sad that I hate you.
Sad that I’m dumb.
Sad that I love you.
Sad that I’m weak.
But really, I’m just sad that I am sad.
Harley Rae Feb 2013
"Your hair smells so good", you sighed, as I covered your face in a veil of my faded chocolate brown locks. The scent was Juicy Couture and cheap cigarettes

      It was a smell hard to enjoy by most, yet you had an easy smile on your face as I shifted my weight around to tickle your face with my hair. I sat straddling your hips and hovering over your small torso; admiring things about your face most don't notice and only finding beauty in each imperfection.

     You told me you loved the way I smelled after I questioned your adoration for my scent. You revealed that you enjoyed wearing a sweater I had borrowed from you simply because it smelled of me; and that you were saddened when it was soiled.

     I smiled the way I always do when sweet words tumble from your even sweeter lips.

     I had woken up alone that morning, like most other times I spent my nights in your bed, and hated it more, and more each time I had to wake up without you. It wasn't until late afternoon that you arrived at the place you call home and greeted me.

     We smoked together in your bedroom, the place I am more comfortable than anywhere else, and after a moment you removed yourself from the floor, and laid to rest on your bed. Wanting nothing more than to lie close to you, I seized the moment before it passed and asked you to make room for me next to you.

     We laid in bed for what passed like seconds, but lasted hours. We drifted in and out of sleep as I rest my head on your arm, taking in your scent with every breath.

I doubt I would be successful if I tried to describe your scent with words. Your scent to me is more than what words could only make it seem; I can only describe it with emotions and experiences.

Your scent is that of late night laughter with our old friends, new friends, and people we hardly know.
It is the scent of Friday mornings spent in bed, blissful love making, cigarettes, and a loved sweater.
It's what I wouldn't mind waking up to each morning, or falling asleep to each night.
It is the scent of old memories, and new ones to come.

And it is the very one that I adore most.

— The End —