#102

You smell like cigarettes and wild spice.
You smell like home.
We have bloody feet from
walking on the broken parts that
we drop, when we speak.

But you are good at the right moments.
The moments where all I need,
is my hands held.
Or a cheesy awkward smile.
Or when you stand close enough, so
that I am reminded, of what home smells like.

You.
Cigarettes.
Wild Spice.
Engine oil, and body wash.

I love you.

We are imperfect.
And, that is alright.

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26 thoughts on “#102

    1. I have a tattoo… about my story on my calf. At the very bottom, it says : Say what you man, and mean what you say.

      So… thank you. Being direct is the only way to be , in my opinion, and blunt words are possible even if they are beautifully put. Again, thank you for reading.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Lucky bastard. I have neuropathy. So some places I didn’t feel a thing and others, I was singing nina somone tunes to myself silently so that I cuold try and not involuntarily kick the tattoo guy in the head.

        Liked by 1 person

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