you still linger here

 It was unseasonably cool this evening. I had a lot of pent-up energy. Normally, I just play the piano. Nothing relives my mind and relaxes my body quite like the feel of cool ivory keys beneath my fingers. I played for an hour, but I was still antsy and on edge. I laced up my dingy Nike shoes and threw on an old sweatshirt that once belonged to my mom. I put my iPod and shuffle and began to run. I like to run in the dark. It's comforting to me, and no one can see how ridiculous I look. The air was perfect--cool, tinged with moisture and the faint smell of roasting marshmallows from a bonfire somewhere down the street. My body relaxed, my mind cleared. It was just me, the lingering notes of my music, and the fall of my feet on the worn sidewalk.

I'm really quite out of shape, so I wasn't able to run the entire mile-and-a-half circuit around my school. I stopped on the dark sidewalk to catch my breath. I put my head to my shoulder to wipe my face. My heart stopped--I caught her sent. She hadn't worn this sweatshirt in years. It's been washed scores since she last wore it. But somehow, it still smelled like her. For a brief moment, I was six years old again, cuddled with her at a bonfire. Cool air, crisp breeze, the scent of roasting marshmallows. I let the sadness wash over me. I just stood there. I couldn't move. She was there with me. She had her arms around me, and I was happy. I could feel the pride she felt for me when I was six years old. I still feel it now, as I lay in my bed and think about all the Rossetti things I need to do this week.

Thanks for the comfort, mom. I can't help but think you're watching.

xo,
Katy