The way you feel in my arms is indescribable. I was sure I could describe it, make it sound beautiful with a flowery word or two, but I'm not capable of that. I can't form coherent thoughts about the way being with you feels. When I saw you again, after all that time, something clicked inside me, and maybe it was a resurgence of old feelings, but I knew I had to hold you. So I did, much to your surprise. I pulled you into an embrace, let my fingers slide thought your silky raven hair, and let your intoxicating smell fill me. I never forgot that. The way you smelled was always so simplistically feminine. No fruity fucking body lotions and sprays. Just clean: a little soapy, and flowery and I can almost taste the vanilla on your skin. None of it has to be added. I know that now. I was foolish to think I could just let you walk away without finding out how real it was.
The realness of you is a bit intimidating. It's new and it's exciting, and you've got all the comforts of an old friend. We've got those stories from that summer. Now I've got your hand in mine, and I don't plan on letting go.