"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.

I need the sun and it's warm arms around me,
I need earth's sweet soil to stain my bare soles,
and soul,


I need the thick air of a humid day,
with the rain clouds hanging over me,
threatening to obstruct my evening plans of star gazing,


I long for the warm, ***** waters of the lakes of my home town,
the gargling bubbles in the back of my throat when I accidentally breathe underwater,
and I long for the pain in my ear canal when water gets trapped,
from pretending to be a mermaid for too long,


I am impatient for the ache on my shoulders and face, from UV exposure,
too much of a good thing does exist,
but it's nothing Aloe Vera can't soothe,


I am anxious for cold beers on the porch with my best friends
in the home we live in together,
and I am anxious for the mornings wasted laying in bed,
with the morning sunshine through my lace curtains as my only alarm clock,


I want the bruised legs, scraped knees, freckles, and ***** hands
that only these short lived summer months can bring to me,
I want the careless, reckless, "it's only 2 am" behaviors that come with a late sunset,
and I want the happiness that comes with the scent of flowers entangled in my hair,
a late sunrise, and warm winds.

This brisk Saturday morning,
                                      I cried.
Tears pooled in my eyes as I realized it was now
                                   6:30 am,
and it was yet another night I had not slept
                         a single second.

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.

His skin smelled of fire and his lips tasted of sweet honey and harsh tobacco;
his hot breath on my neck sent messages on butterfly wings from my spine to my small stomach,
sending all my blood to my head, making my pale face ignite into bright crimson.


The touch of his fingertips on my skin were kisses without lips,
he gave them to me each time we pulled away for air;
we inhaled sharply, tasting the sweat, tension, and anticipation in the air.
I couldn't stand to not have my lips on his,
and back we went to playing games with each other's tongues.


     Kissing the skin stretched over the bones in his chest,
along with the dying passion marks I had left several nights before,
I had no choice but to revive them; remind him.
Remind him for several days to come of our nights together,
of our passion, and our lust.


     He squirmed as I twirled and flicked my warm tongue across the soft, fragile flesh of his neck,
writing out love letters, and confessions of the heart,
along with profanities about his past lovers.



     I knew it was wrong; every touch, every kiss, every breath we exchanged,
my mind told me so with every single nerve he excited within me.
But something deeper inside of me protested,
told me I wanted this; that I needed it.

Perhaps it was animal instinct, I haven't any idea,

But in that moment, I wanted nothing more than for this to be the right thing.

I fought a battle between my conscience and my instincts,
my mind and my heart.



But I realized my mind was no longer in control of my body
as I unclenched the teeth of the zipper on my pants,
peeled away the layers of cotton, polyester, and denim that separated us,
and let myself begin to fall for a man I hardly knew.

Tuesday morning, laying in bed
You've left me alone again
Rotting in a grave of the love we made,
I searched for you


And I wish I could say it was
But this is far from the first time,
That you've left me behind,
To wonder what it is that's wrong with me


You know, in the night
It's warm beneath these sheets but you're so cold
Inches away but miles apart,


I swear you wish I was her
And I just can't stand the way you speak
Always riddles I can't decipher
They drive me up the wall all I want is answers


I'm not as heartless and impenetrable as you think
I'm just a kid with an ego
The feelings I have, you wash them down the sink.
And I think I'm starting to lose myself in all this mess

I sat in the dining room of my home, watching the sun rise and letting it's warmth pour over me through the window.
I listened to Edith Piaf sing beautiful love songs to me as I drank my coffee black and smoked too many harsh cigarettes waiting for words to come to me.


     I sat for a while watching the shy sun peek over the towering trees in the horizon, letting it inspire me and fill me with irrevocable and overwhelming hope for the day.
I had not slept for 24 hours, yet my bright eyes were wide with pure adoration for the sun and it's astounding strength to pull itself out of it's deep slumber each morning.


    It was then I realized humans beings themselves are much like the sun. Regardless of the day before and it's happenings, we rise each day unknowing of what is to become of the next 24 hours.


     There are mornings that it is hard peel my duvet off of my cold, slender, legs; and there are mornings I can hardly wait for the sun to rise to begin my day.
There, too, are days I don't rise from my wrinkled sheets until the sun has set itself into the highest point of the sky, announcing that it is midday.
There are even days I can't bring myself to crawl away from my  pillows until the sun is setting.


But today is not one of those days. For today I have hope of what has yet to come.

Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.

Stop.

Where does your mind wander to first?

What are your wants, your needs?

Where is your heart, where is your mind?

What about your soul?

Is it with you, or does someone else have it wrapped around their finger?