He smells like boy.

I watch him from the door, my presence unknown to him.  I was ready to go in and explode at this silly boy who caused me so much emotion but hesitated.  He does what he does best, sits there creating music and art and just being him. I shake my head in wonder at the way one person can come into your life and mean so much so fast. And that sometimes he would talk or act in ways that would frustrate me so much and made me want to pull my hair out and scream from a mountaintop into the night sky and those silly fights that sometimes lasted days but never really meant anything and the times he’d forget what he shouldn’t have forgotten or do what he shouldn’t have done… but yet there he sat, perfectly him. Because then, flooding my mind, were the times that he would surprise me in the middle of the day or write me letters or take me somewhere special or just pull me close and make me feel perfectly safe and loved, and the times he remembered what he didn’t need to remember or did exactly what he should do, those times were memories I couldn’t shake no matter how hard I tried. So I let out a deep breath, took a mental picture of a long last glance, and walked right by his oblivious figure, strumming a soft melody with a smile on his face.