It was the kind of scent that brings blood to your mouth. As I neared him, close enough to feel him breathe on my cheek or ear lobes, I touched his skin with my finger tips. It was one of the most surreal feelings and gave me goose bumps. So I had blood in my mouth, my hand on his face, the sensation of his heavy breaths on my neck and the salty taste of his skin. I hallucinated to unravel it more, the mystical presence of whatever it was. I breathed him in because we were so close that I was actually breathing him in, it felt as if a part of him went inside me through my nostrils, passing my throat, then my lower neck, gushing my chest and reversing back. It did, the air did come out but that part which carried him inside stayed. He was a cigarette, my cigarette, my drug and I inhaled him every day. Every day, near or far I inhaled him; sometimes when I touched him, some times when I looked at him, sometimes while travelling in his car, sometimes when I saw his pictures, sometimes the scent he left on my neck, my hands, my face, my chin and my lips, sometimes when I read his texts I took a part of him inside me and it never came out. It settled in like tar, dark and thick intense tar that settled inside my body, that belonged with him; and just like tar, it was accounting for slow poison.
Then one day when we parted, I told him I can still feel you around, breathe your scent all around me and he stood oblivious to that feeling, partially accustomed and partially oblivious. Isn’t it strange how you can never measure the degree of love, no matter what? As different people love differently and showing affection in their own ways, I could not fathom whether my love was stronger because I could smell his scent even after not having him around or gone for so long or his because he was fragrant?
Who is stronger and who is weak? Was he the one or I? Because his vision made me weak, when I looked at him I could sense nothing but him, not even my shadow or my flynn to react. Nothing stood along, just him. His sight, his mere presence made me weak on my knees, my head hurt, my eyes blurred, I took deep breathes and my heart, well my heart did skip a beat, as long as the one which could kill me and this was all his scent.
The absolute charismatic scent of his skin that dwelled on my face, my hands, my hair, my lips, my cheek and everywhere he touched, even at the places where he didn’t; like my heart, my emotions or my imagination. It was as if he was there, but unaware. It was the kind of heart wreaking feeling of sensing something so profound that busted my bubbles.
The sense was so mesmerizing, so captivating that I wanted to take it in, everything at once and never leave it for anyone to feel, not even him. I wanted to bear that burden of carrying someone on my head, on my heart to places through day and night. That’s the undefined love I am talking about.