When You Left

21

*Pic on side is somewhat how I imagine their apartment. With the bed and bath branching off to the left and the kitchen immediatly to the right of the front door.*

11. 13. 13

        The vivid memory of your hands on my skin is starting to strangle me. Your scent that still permeates our sheets no matter how many times I douse them with bleach is suffocating me. The breadcrumb trail of things left in the apartment –a lone sock underneath the couch, your mail that continues to pile up, a half-finished carton of American Spirits in the cabinet- seem too demanding to ignore.

        When I look in the mirror I see you. In my blonde wild tresses that you loved to yank on. In the hazel of my eyes that sometimes, rarely, matched the pale and almost sandy color of yours. In my chapped, dull lips that you would spend hours kissing or staring at as I spoke to you. In my collarbones, the crook of my neck, the ridges of my spine, and my lanky arms. All I see is you.

        So, I went to the sea today to forget you, but I saw your smile in the sun. The ocean reminded me of your favorite color and the sand taunted me with the shade of your eyes. A child that played with a pail had your loud guffaw and his mother had your same shade of chestnut locks.

I cannot escape you,

Daisy.

A/N: pssst... Parker may appear in the next chapter sort of (;