You’ll smell my hair more when my head isn’t resting next to yours. Your sheets will carry me softly first and then it will grow stronger until you cannot know for sure if I am there or not.
You will hear me softly singing in the shower and you’ll walk over to the bathroom to find me there and maybe join me but instead you’ll find an empty space.
You will hear my voice in every crowded place and you’ll turn around in circles searching through the room, craning your neck, squinting your eyes, following the sounds that you know will bring me home.
You will feel drawn to follow any long mane of wild, unruly dark hair in hopes that you’ll run your hands through it and pull my sweet lips to yours. Urgently at first. Where have I been? You’ve missed me.
You will wake up in the middle of the night and reach for me and wrap your arm around a pillow instead of my bare skin. Or maybe you’ll come to find bare skin and bury your face in her shoulder and realize, with some strange dis-ease that she’s not me.
You’ll notice me.
You’ll love me and you will obsess over me and you will torture yourself for your ambivalence when you had me.
When I’m not there, you’ll miss me the most. And so I walk away from you. Quickly and abruptly and often.
You crave me when I leave you. Withdrawal. You become, rabid and irrational and all over the fucking road.
And so I let you get really high off of me. I let you take me in completely and I let you consume me and I flow through your veins and through your bloodstream and I can make you feel a little dizzy, but strong and intense and invincible. And at some point you feel like you’ve had enough. Maybe too much. And you come down off of me. And you fall asleep.
It’s in those moments that I always leave. Because when you wake up. The sun shines slightly through your window and the light dances like I used to with you. And you begin to move your fingers and toes slightly and stretch your body. And then it calls for me. You begin to itch for me.
You feel at some point, maybe guilty. It doesn’t make sense. You use your brain to compute the logistics of what seems reasonable. You weigh outcomes and you calculate heavily and you divide everything up into boxes and put them away.
But at some point. The limitations of the mind become, evident. You can no longer be confined. The creature, the animal, the primitive beast that you are growls and snarls and demands it’s needs.
What it needs is me.
And when it realizes I’ve gone. When it realizes that I’ve left. It becomes inconsolable. Dramatic and absolutely insane. Or so it feels. It feels like betrayal of the conscious thought process and it feels out of control.
It’s in those drastic shifts. Where you unleash your wildest dreams. Where you are allowing yourself what you really want, where you have no other choice than to acknowledge how much you want to consume me fully.
That you come creeping sneaking, crawling back to me.