Senses

Rewind to almost half a decade of sunrises and sunsets, I have always wanted to write you a piece of the senses. It gets me perplexed how you rob me of words when you're around and how you put them quite back together when you aren't.

I. 

Once in a while, I smell you on my skin. And it stops my day. I'm on a chaotic highway, it's an intersection of routes, and I wait to pass. Eventually the horns go mute, and the lights signal for me to walk on. So, I keep moving. Pitfall after pitfall, your silhouette's all too familiar and I keep running and moving with each step against you. And then back. Tell me, how did tiring ever become so beautiful? 

II.

Feeling under the weather, and all I ever have are the memories of how he wasn't around and how you were unknowingly just there. Little did I know that even if it wasn't you, it was you I heard. I heard you say "hang on". I heard you telling me to endure the peaks and the valleys. You were my snowstorm, my saving grace.