Written by Melissa Booey
I remember when we started writing together, and how sacred the setting of the cabin was to him, it became like another character in the act. I loved hearing him talk about this magical place, this safe haven he held so dearly and so close to his heart. It was the only physical place he said he’d ever felt at home. He promised he’d take me there one day. In retrospect, I suppose it makes sense that I never made it up there. Six and a half years and he never made it happen.
Sometimes I’m just mad at myself for not admitting it, since I knew it in my heart all along, but I couldn’t say it out loud. Sometimes I still can’t say it out loud, but there are days when the rain hits the palms and I pretend that they’re pines and I can smell the Yosemite wilderness on a crisp, Spring morning. I can smell freshly cut wood in a roaring fire and Irish whiskey poured.
I can almost smell you.
Edited on 27/05/2018 by Author's Request