Sometimes I Feel Like the Boy from "Perfume."

Last night I was finally introduced to The Cabin, home of Uncle Wally/Ian, House, and George's workspace/location of parties when Wally's out of town. It was lovelier than I had imagined. One entire wall is made of glass, facing the lake, borderline-magical in the early morning. It sits one cove over from where Johnny Cash used to reside. Terribly Nashville, yeah?

A few of the boys' friends joined us for poker and beer.
Of course, the point is that one of them reminded me of you.
Maybe it was all that thick, black coffee, but I think your eyes were actually in his head.
(Like that man on the 17 that sat like you, and I was a bit surprised when I looked up and did not find your head attached to the neck.)
He acted around me the same way you did when we first met; the way he looked at me, the way he talked, the stories he told, the things he laughed at.
It was bizarre.
I was afraid he would touch me.
Because I was afraid of what would happen.
What it would feel like, I guess.

Crystal doesn't think the T'Oaks stairwell has a smell, but it does. Every time I walk up or down, it makes me think of sitting in the corner of the first landing with my pink book, and of the shape of your face in my hands.

Hmm.

It seems increasingly unlikely that I will ever get to kiss you again.