It’s such a shame that
smells just fade,
cause soon there’ll be no more
of your smell on my pillow
where your head rested last night.
And I’ll be all alone in my room
with the weight of missing you
again and again.
I love that fresh smell
of weed and cologne
on his clothes.
The smell of the cold,
December air that lingers
in his hair and on his lashes.
And the smell of something else,
on his shirt,
on his neck,
on my lips,
in his breath.
i’ve been pretty occupied lately with these translations i’ve been doing for a writer in greece. it’s been pretty successful and very satisfying actually to do something intellectual, something that is connected to you, something that you are interested in and even get paid for. and for once i’m not just working at my stupid dining room job that i get minimum wage for as i slave away.
the more you try and the more you give,
the more you’re fucked over by it.
so why the fuck do i have to fucking try,
and get hurt in the end, all the fucking time.
do you ever kiss and quickly peek at the person’s face and just see the fucking passion in their face and how concentrated they are and it’s so cute and adorable and you fall in love even more.
yesterday night was pretty crazy; i’m glad he was there with me. i always have these adrenaline rushes with him, we’re always doing fun shit and i never get to do that with anyone else. and he doesn’t even care how crazy i act, he doesn’t judge, he just accepts it. can’t wait till tonight.