delicacy

"I forgot how much I remembered his apartment.

I had taken such vivid photographs in my memory of each crevice, every corner and every barefooted step.

I remembered in such distinct details the hardwood floors, the maps and records on the wall. His record player. The way his bathroom looked in certain light and the way his window shown down over the rain-soaked street.

His tan, cashmere-like-sheets that stretched over his two pillows. I had captured his sink condiments and bowls filled with memorabilia.

Most of all, I remembered the smell. And his smile that touched both ears. And that laughter. Oh my god the laughter. His apartment, a restaurant, a room, it turned into a symphony hall when he laughed.

And his sweetness. Not just his manner or his actions towards me. But his general nature. He had this sweet, tenderness to him. I can’t describe it. A delicate softness, filled with so much sweetness I was scared to have too much.

And everything, everything is lovely. And the words I describe for him, are for no one else.

They remain his. And I like it that way.

He embodies this fragile charm that melts me.

It melts me and I seep through the cracks in the floor.

And I float.

Trying to soak inside him. But I can’t. and that’s okay.

Because I know I shouldn’t. but I crave something sweet, all the time now."