Dirty Dancing.

 

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.

No Goodbyes here.

HERE

In all honesty I told him today wasn’t as exhilarating as I had anticipated it to be. I’m yet to receive his reply. I didn’t tell him how I wish to drive on an unending highway with sad songs playing all throughout; it would give him wrong signals about my feelings. But I tell you here, Please bear with me.

Sometimes I wonder how it feels like to just leave. Not have to say a teary goodbye to anyone or live in fear of never seeing them again. To lose someone momentarily is just as bad as losing them forever, don’t you think? I am afraid it’s not something I can do and perhaps it could be an unwise decision later. But what I am more afraid of is that he might be capable of the very same thing. Gone. Poof.