all i wanted to do was touch her.

she had on this shirt i had watched her buy from a thrift store. vintage, she claimed.

i can still remember the heat of her arms as i moved my hand up. pass the wrist, pass the elbow.

moved down her side. slipped my hand under that shirt.

that shirt. the one someone else had worn to the point of softness. but it already smelled of her.

when i kissed down her belly, through the shirt, i closed my eyes.

the smell... the feel of it against my cheek... her hand in my hair... her laughter.

oh god her laughter. i could hear that right before i die and die happy.

i tugged her shirt up, barely to her rib cage.

she had a beautiful stomach.

she still has it. it comes from playing soccer since she was seven.

but the thing is, it's not well defined or anything. i could lay my hand across her belly and feel her laugh, feel her breathe, feel her shift slightly.

she had this little tattoo right around her left pelvic area.

i didnt know it until then.

everything about her got to me.

her half grin, her full body laugh, her eyes, her freckles, her strength, her weakness.

i miss her sometimes. late at night.

but i move on.