Nicole

A Story by MaryLovely

A short writing about the one person that I have been in love with.

Her smell was that of a warm, smoke. Her brown hair, her clothing and body, her whole essence was completely immersed in this smokey mango. Now it envelopes these white striped sheets. Maybe they should be washed. No, her scent should be left as a comfort each night. A comforting memory of what was had, and then the pierce of what has been lost. Those hands, soft and dry. Good to hold; they were never clammy, even after hours of those elegant fingers interlocked with another's. She was warm, and she was good. Often misjudged by mistakes she had made, or misconceptions of her life, which was so wrong. She had the most beautiful soul, and was a breathtaking person. The kind of person your eyes fall down on and can't ever look away; captivated by the beauty. She had been left, and she had been hurt. Her trust in the world wasn't as full as it could have been. Another woman, more a girl than a woman at all, did what she could to ensure this girl that she would not be deceived by the world like past events had made her feel. The girl held her as often as she could, taking in deep, appreciative breaths of smokey mango. But this girl broke her. She walked out of her life so fast. Maybe she was even running. Running away, or running to something else, there isnt really any evidence to prove this one way or another. The girl herself doesn't even know. The girl stayed away for a long time. Maybe she was too scared to come back, fearing unacceptance, or maybe she just didn't know if it was the right thing to do or not. Months later, as the leaves turned warm reds, yellows, browns, the girl came back into her life quicker than she had left it. Caressing words and actions and kisses. A movie and the warmth of their bodies intertwined. The pride. She never forgot that smokey mango. Too quickly, the girl became unsure and left her life yet again. The girl had hurt her again. Showing her that she would be deceived and left alone. The girl wished she hadn't hurt her, she was sure now. She needed this woman in her life, as a lover, or even as a friend. The girl pleaded and pleaded, but it appeared to be too late. Crying into those white striped bed sheets she had caressed the brown haired woman against days before, the girl sobbed and breathed in. That familiar smokey mango again drifted into her lungs. The girl is so sure, now, but this smokey mango, brown haired beauty seems to be lost. And that hurts. But maybe someday, they could walk again. She and the girl had walked before. Hand in hand down the pier and in the sand. Words of suicide and hard times were spoken, and words were not needed to secure the other. Each felt like they mattered, and through love and lips colliding and skin brushing, it was found beautiful. Maybe another chance, and maybe another walk, and the smokey mango will enter this girls lungs one more time.