his nascent scent
My pillows smell like him.
When I wake up in the morning it’s usually with a cat under each arm, lying on my back. But for the last two nights I’ve awakened to find myself on my side with my arms around a pillow and my face buried in it. Pretty strange behavior for me.
But as I was making my bed this morning, after being outside my bedroom for a while, I realized that the pillow I’ve been clutching smells like him. It’s a mix of his hair stuff and his skin. And there I am, curling up with and burying my face in it.
I’m not sure I like what that implies. I mean, I DO like what it implies, but…
As I was leaving this morning I put all four pillow cases (I sleep with four pillows strewn about the head of the bed) in the washer. Not because I wanted to wash away the memory of him staying the night, but because all I could think about was that smell as I was getting ready for work.
I’m trying to pace myself with our friendship at this point. It’s obviously more than a friendship, but somehow it’s not called anything more yet. I’ve actually been asked to slow down, although neither of us knows what that means.
This is the most wonderfully complicated, twisted, difficult yet frighteningly easy thing I’ve ever been through. I can’t even guess where it will go, and I’m not sure even I know where I want it to lead me. But if he’s there, I’m game.