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...written on 2007-10-08, @ 11:50 a.m.
It is cold and grey and wet where I'm sitting, curled up in your leather jacket, and watching the clouds drift by. This was your favorite weather: clouds roiling angrily, thunder cracking out the promise of rain, and a swift, sudden breeze that cut through everything but your dirty old jacket. This coat smells like cigarettes,leather(of course), and something distinctly you. I think it might be autumn, dirt, and fallen leaves. I always thought it was funny that you smelt like a little boy. I curl into it, this essence of you, by tucking my fingers into these long sleeves and my knees into my chest. Too bad I can't trick myself into thinking it is your arms wrapped around me instead of your sleeves. For a minute though, I can almost see you reaching out for me, pulling me close enough to hear the racket ringing out of your headphones,drumming a rhythm I don't recognize on my knees.