27 Days

I remember the way you smelt. Like car oil and musky axe body spray. The way your green eyes would light up as soon as I walked into a room.

I remember when you would yell and throw stuff across the room, like a child, when we fought. The way your voice would break when you'd tell me to stay away, almost like you were about to cry.

I remember the way I fell in love with you. It was when you picked me up over a puddle on South K street at 11:30 in the evening. I had fell down in the first puddle. You wouldn't let me live it down.

I remember the way you fell out of love. It was when I came home smelling like alcohol and pot and couldn't remember how I got home. You stayed at your best friends that night and didn't come home. You never came home.

These 27 days will be the death of us.