a sunday afternoon 2:57 pm
You weren't much of a sight. In all honesty I couldn't see much of what the darkness took of him. Nights seem to be a lot more blinding this time of year.
But it was obvious it was you. Your voice and smell of skin familiar enough. The press of you to me over a wooden fence. It was longed for. A daily dose needed and craved for. I hope you feel the same way.
I've had about twenty months to get used to his face. Ten months to get used to his body. Enough to stop the feeling of breath being squeezed from me. But there's not enough time to stop the feeling of warmth from my chest.
He departed and left behind a scent of cinnamon in a bundle of sweetness. A piece of him sewed into a white hoodie. And a few words with tons of weight to them.
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