While the extravagant swear by their Chanel no. 5, I sit here and figure the smell of three things that I like any day; the smell of soil after the rain, the smell of food when I’m hungry, and how he smells like in the mornings.
The
music blared in the club and he held me close for cosy dance. While I let loose
in between and moved around, he told me I seemed different. Matured was the
adjective he used. As we walked into his room later that night I could tell he
was uncertain of a few thoughts in his head. Impressed, nevertheless.
I
wish every Sunday mornings began in his arms after a tipsy night, but we both
know familiarity breeds contempt.