I like not wearing deodorant. Over time, I develop this sicky sweet smell mixed with the salty scent of perspiration. It's the only thing that still reminds me of how he smelled. I loved burying my face into his skin, under his arms as he rested over me. He smelled salty and sweet all at the same time. His breath tasted similarly when we'd kiss after he'd been drinking. An overwhelmingly sweet taste came from him, mingling with his other natural flavor. And I could smell it all. It permeated my entire body when he would talk. It's like I couldn't absorb enough of his breath. We would laze away on the couch and he would get talking, all the while I was trying to be subtle about my long inhalations. Like I was trying to brand myself with his scent. I wanted it in my nose.
find myself lifting my arms and turning my head to inhale my own scent.
I never knew it was so similar to his. All of those years of wearing
deodorant. I still wear it on occasion, but when I can get away with
skipping the application, I do. I'd forgotten how nice it felt. How
nice it is to be able to smell him still. It's the closest I'm going to
For the past few days I have immersed myself in my novels. Living fantasy through them is drugging and satisfying. When all you have to think about is the next chapter. It's freeing. I'm so overwhelmed thinking of what school will bring that I already mourn my beloved books. I doubt I'll have much time for recreational reading in the next three years. I feel desperate to cram in as much as I can before everything changes.
A future of my own creation looms in the distance. And looming is the perfect word to describe it. It's as if it's a faint shape I can see but is obscured in a dense fog. I project onto what I see based on the outlines. And though I try to identify it, I can't truly know it until I get a closer look. Even though I feel this uneasiness I know this is what I want. It's all there can be. I have put all of my eggs into this basket and I will make damn sure not to go off and drop the thing.