He sang into that mic and hit a series of notes that gave her full body shivers. How lucky she was that music affects her this way, that she could immerse herself so deeply into a song. And how a song can evoke memories so clear and sharp she can almost smell the cologne he was wearing that night. The “one last cigarette” that clung to his long wavy hair. And they way they mixed together so deliciously, like his lips on her neck, hitting that spot that made her knees weak. For a moment her heart hurt… so she turned the volume up on her headphones, closed her eyes and pretended her blanket was his arms around her shoulders, her pillows his strong chest. It was almost as good. Almost.
Almost As Good
Write Then & There 