The Intoxicating Smell of Breeze

Today it struck me again, with a force so powerful that I literally felt my chest compress and start aching. I was sitting on my bed, devouring Wilbur Smith's "Warlock" in a greedy read-fest of page flipping, with the comforting sounds of my family (auntie, uncle and Bob the Builder, my devil of a cousin) outside reading and chatting.

All of a sudden I felt this pounding feeling in my chest and the incredibly familiar, intoxicating smell of Breeze rose unbidden within my nostrils. The world greyed out and the good memories started crashing down with ferocious realism: How tiny, soft and loving she once was, how I learnt the true meaning of the word 'intimate', how I could smell her Breeze-laundered clothing forever, how perfectly connected we once were, and finally, achingly, how her tiny body fit perfectly in mine when we slept under the covers of a thick blanket. Those were the only times that I ever felt perfectly at peace in my entire life. She was my soulmate. Probably still is.

It was good. It was the experience of a lovetime(god what a Freudian slip! That really was what I typed). Sure it ended acrimoniously, but I've cleared the uglier things up recently and decided to at least be civil. I've kept my distance all the same, even though she wants to be friends. That could be all she really wants, but why take the risk?

Under the pretense of being the tough son of a bitch ladykiller that my friends think I am, my official stand is that I'm a man. I'll never go back and be made a fool of by the same person twice, but the truth is it hurt so badly the first time it happened there was an actual physical ache in my chest (I suppose that's where the term heartache comes from). It hurt so bad that I was paralysed for a few weeks, unable to think or function straight, drowning in that foul morass while going through the motions in everything I did, and I'm deathly concerned at what would happen if I really did go back. Imagine the fragility of the emotions involved and what would happen if it failed yet again.

What if she wants to be friends under the pretense of trying to get back with me? Imagine my confusion then. Despite the many beautiful girls that have crossed my life, she's still the only girl I've ever really loved. In hindsight, I realise that she and me fit perfectly. Family aside, she was the only one who appreciated the subtle jokes I told, understood me more than even I did, and even her tiny body fit amazingly with mine. I once told her that I'd love her forever, and the craziest thing is that I still do. That realisation and my firm decision never to look back managed to co-exist peacefully after I realised they weren't mutually exclusive.

I want her back. The old her. The one that I first laid my eyes on. The kindest girl in the world, the one who didn't bother hiding her crush on me, the one that impressed me with her wit and ability to crack really intelligent jokes and laugh without restraint until her belly hurt, the one whose waist I encircled and knew for THAT moment, that life was amazingly, wonderfully glorious...

*sigh* What an empty dream.