I love your smell.
I’ve always been like this; scents have always been my thing.
My memory keeps, you see. So I always envision everyone else in my head, even if I only want to see you. Events, things that built up to the moment in which I stand… and I hate a lot of it. The people too. Some. I wish there was a recycle bin, reformat button, Liquid Paper, that funky machine that erases a person from someone’s memory in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
But yeah, smells. They’re there when you’re there. Or when a fragment of your life stained in your smell is there. Like your towel. So I sniff it once in a while. I hope I’m not putting you off or anything, but one can’t remember smells unless they smell that smell. And to me, a smell is the closest thing to the tangible.
I don't think I like this feeling of dependency, but it's proof, I guess. Like the way my heart beats when we're together.
Fuck, I'm sprouting love cliches.
See what you do to me?
You'd better be going through something like this so I won't feel too much like an idiot.
.
On a not-really-unrelated note: I feel like bursting into tears right now. God, I hate PMS. I wanted to sit on the swing so badly tonight, but school bus drivers were hanging around the park and I was afraid they'd rape me in the bus and no one would hear me scream through the engine.
