The first time. For some it's uneventful, anti-climactic (pun intended), and unmemorable. I'm glad that wasn't my experience. I waited.
But once I got a taste, it was like a potato chip. One just isn't enough. I became insatiable. And as the years have passed, that desire has waned, but every once in awhile, on a Thursday, it comes back, hot and forceful.
He smelled like soap. Clean and sweet. Untouched and unspoiled. Innocent. I swear I could still smell him, his scent, the entire 14-hour journey home across the Atlantic. And every once in awhile, I catch a whiff of it, lingering in the air, and the nostalgia overwhelms me.
"There are moments in our lives that seem to define us. Moments we keep going back to." Like the moment on the dock in the moonlight seeing my soul reflected back at me.
"She took my hand and led me out of the darkness and showed me that, whatever our souls are made of, hers and mine are the same." And in that moment, we were one and the same.
"My life before him was so simple and decided. And now, after him, there's just, after." And that's what it's been for over nine years now. Just after.
