Hot and clammy

Breath in smoke, breath out last summer.

I think I've been desperate for ways to escape my past.

I still think about him,

Maybe he would be ashamed if he saw me now.

If he could even recognize my face.

Sometimes I smell it, how it felt,

I smell gangly limbs wrapped around one another.

I smell awkward hand holding,

And I smell secrecy I know I'll burn for.

Sometimes I miss how it felt to be unafraid of dying,

While also being in love with living.

Now,

I am afraid to touch blades to skin,

Yet tired of waking up to being alive.

I miss the heat,

and the time when we had yet to meet.

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