Her Scent
I hate those days when you just can't get the smell of a girl off of you, and not even the cold winter rain can wash it off of you. So you just watch the water gilt the window payne of the sliding glass door to the porch. Even if you were able to get rid of her heavenly scent, you'd be thinking about her, constantly, as if she's the plague onto your mind. Crawling through the confines of your secluded mind, sectioned under a file simply called 'her'. As much as you'd like to close that file, you just can't bring yourself to do it. She strides along the recesses of your mind and eases her way into your television set. At first, her eyes are cold, dull, and lifeless, but as you begin to fiddle with the remote, her eyes gleem with life as she looks at you as if she wants you, as if she needs you. Then you find that you're tangled up with her again, and tomorrow will be another day of trying to get rid of her scent.