Sometimes I smell you, a brief few notes on a small breeze, and it's like a punch to my breastbone, a clenching of my lungs, and I imagine that in some other world, some parallel dimension we have already met and maybe you have had our child or maybe you are laying on top of me laughing or maybe I'm sitting next to the tub as you take a bath and tell me the story of the scar on your right knee.

Somewhere we have been, somewhere we are, somewhere you get out of bed and I roll onto your pillow and breathe you in, deeply, as you shower, and feeling the heat of where your body just. Somewhere we are meeting for the first time or we are leaving other for the last time.

It is these moments where your ghost, from that other world, where your ghost comes and touches my hair, walks by, calms my spirit.

It is these moments that makes me continue, to know somewhere I'm touching your body for the first time, taking off your shirt, my hands are on your hips, my mouth on your rib cage. Somewhere I have had a migraine and you are running your fingers through my hair, singing softly until I pass out. Somewhere we have had our first big fight and the apartment is quiet and I am scared to death you are leaving and all the words I have meant to say are in my throat choking me. Somewhere you have left me and I am alone, on a porch, drinking whiskey, and the stars are too bright.