Your Sweater

I couldn’t sleep, you see. There were just so many things going through my mind. So many mental video clips and audio reels and you know how I am, I know you know how I am. So I thought, go for a ride, clear my head with loud music and high speeds that turn the road into a hypnotic blur. I dropped my keys getting into the car and had to crouch way down to the wet cement to reach under the car for them, cut the back of my knuckles on the under belly of the Saturn. Drop myself into the seat and then it happens, that magic thing that happens when you are near me. My nerves unwind and my muscles relax. I smell you, it’s your sweater hung over the passenger seat.
How I * that smell wasn’t as sweet and dear and intertwined in my heart. How I * it didn’t offer such a strong comfort. How glad I am that it does. I run my hand over the soft fabric and gather it in both hands, holding it to my face. Your smell and the beautiful memories, as detailed as the finest china. The pressure in my head drains and I feel good and relax, like when you curl in my arms and I fall asleep stroking you like a kitten.
If I said that I decided not to go for a ride, only instead I slipped back inside holding your sweater. If I told you how I didn’t have to drive for hours until the sun came up and I finally became too tired to go on. If I whispered gently into your ear about how the simple act of burring my face in the soft folds of your black sweater was all I needed to find that hidden passage way to the my delicious dreams of heaven, would you think I was crazy? Curled up here, the scent of your skin so real and close ~ I feel somewhat crazy, and happy and just so glad to be alive. So glad to know you the way I do. So grateful that you forgot your sweater, almost as grateful as I am that in some bizarre twist of fate you found something you could like in me. Almost, maybe a little more right now.